


The Journey Home and Beyond

by kaitlia777



Series: Maverick Crew [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen, Post Movie, post Narada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-26
Updated: 2010-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlia777/pseuds/kaitlia777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Happend between the escape from the blackhole and Kirk's promotion ceremony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Journey Home and Beyond

The elation that followed the Enterprise’s escape from the maw of the black hole that swallowed the Narada was fleeting. The shockwave that had resulted from ejecting the warp core into the black hole had flung them even further from Earth, well beyond the area of Space where Vulcan had once existed. Limping along at impulse power, they knew it would take quite a while (by their standards) to return to Earth and the comparative safety of Starfleet Academy. But that was not the reason for the subdued state of the crew.

Everyone aboard the ship was well aware that their victory was pyrrhic at best. The danger the Narada and her crew posed was gone, but the losses accrued by the Federation were vast. The majority of Vulcan’s six billion inhabitants--gone. Vulcan itself--gone. Seven Federation starships and their crews--gone. Ninety-two percent of Starfleet Academy’s upperclassmen--gone.

“Lieutenant Uhura, please hail Starfleet.”

Jim Kirk-- Acting Captain Jim Kirk’s voice broke the silence that had descended over the bridge. The young man sank gingerly into the command chair, biting back a wince as some of the injuries he had collected over the past couple of days came into contact with the seat. He had the fleeting though that it was a good thing Bones was busy in sickbay, because, had he been free, the doctor would have been on the bridge, demanding Jim allow himself to be examined and treated. Immediately. And he would have backed up his threats with that thrice damned hypospray he seemed to have a deeply troubling affection for and crazy, sneaky ninja skills with.

Nyota Uhura--Acting Lieutenant in charge of communications, gave herself a figurative shake and replied, “Aye, Captain.”

As the cracked view screen at the front of the bridge flared to life, Jim allowed himself a little smile. Uhura had sounded neither annoyed or amazed when she called him captain. There might have even been a hint of respect in her voice, so different from the usual slightly amused distain she tended to project at him. 

After a few seconds of static, the picture resolved itself into the face of Admiral Parker Spencer. Jim had never actually met the older woman, but knew of her reputation. Smart, tough as nails, not someone you wanted to cross. In her mid-fifties’s, she was fit and attractive, and if she hadn’t borne a more than slight resemblance to Jim’s own mother, he would have entertained the idea of flirting with her at a later date.

At the moment, however, he was all business. “Admiral, we’d like to report the Narada has been destroyed and we have retrieved Captain Pike,” Jim reported as she blinked at him.

A tiny, relieved smile graced her face for an instant and Jim could feel her eyes on him. He hoped he didn’t look quite as beaten as he felt, but as his face was starting to get that hot, tight feeling, he was fairly sure the bruising had begun to swell in earnest. Between that and the variety of cuts and scrapes that littered his face, not to mention the two or three pairs of hands that had left visible bruising on his throat, he was aware he probably wasn’t giving the best impression.

“That’s good to hear,” the Admiral was saying. “Might I ask where Captain Pike is…and who are you?”

Kirk shifted awkwardly. “Captain Pike is in Sickbay, Ma’am, being treated for injuries sustained aboard the Romulan ship. I’m James Kirk, Acting Captain…Cadet Kirk, Ma’am.”

Her eyes widened. “Cadet!” she sounded shocked and Jim thought she shook her head, but the view screen flared and he couldn’t be sure. When it stabilized she said, “I look forward to hearing exactly how a cadet came to be in command of our new flagship during a combat situation. I’m sure your reports will have a lot of folks around here frothing at the mouths. You should probably expect a more than standard debrief.”

“I thought as much,” Kirk sighed, then tacked on a, “Ma’am. We’ll be a while getting back to Earth. We had to eject our warp core to pull out of a black hole’s gravity well.”

She blinked again. “Now I’m really eager to see those reports.” The screen blurred out again, and when it stabilized, she said, “I suppose, I’ll let you get back to dealing with shipboard issues, but expect to be hailed again before you make it home.” She paused a moment before adding, “Hell of a job son. Good work.”

The screen blinked out. Kirk took a deep breath and instantly regretted it as the action put strain on his injured ribs. Placing a hand over the painful spot, Kirk looked over at Spock. “How bad’s the damage.”

The Vulcan looked slightly perturbed. “There are stress fractures in the hull on nearly all decks. The damage sustained during earlier engagements has not yet been fully repaired and we now have no warp core.”

“Sounds pretty bad,” Kirk replied. “Okay, first….”

“First Doctor McCoy insists you come down to sickbay.”

A voice behind Jim made him whip his head around, an action that made him grateful he was seated. As a sort of fuzzy cloud pressed in around him, he was vaguely aware of a strong hand levering him back into the chair as he tipped forward. Smaller, softer hands touched his face and someone stepped close to him, someone who smelled of smoke, antiseptic, blood and lavender.

“Captain, perhaps a visit to sickbay would be a prudent course of action.”

As things came into focus again, Jim became aware of the bridge crew gazing at him with varying degrees of concern. Even Spock seemed worried. A woman in medical blue was in front of him, scanning him with a tricorder. From the scowl on her face, he assumed she didn’t like what she was seeing.

But Jim wasn’t about to give in without a fight. It just wasn’t in his nature. “I’m okay, just a bit….”

“I have no idea how you’re still conscious, let alone coherent and verbal,” the medical officer said sharply. Jim was fairly certain her name was Abigail and she worked at the campus medical center with Bones. “Sickbay. Now. Doctor’s orders.”

Jim’s eyes flicked from her serious face, to Spock’s, then back to Abigail and the hypospray that had appeared in her hand.

“Okay,” he finally conceded. “Commander Spock, you have the bridge. I’ll be in sickbay.”

Attempting to retain his dignity despite the exhaustion he could feel encroaching on his energy reserves, Kirk shrugged away from the doctor’s assisting hands and pushed himself to his feet. This turned out to be a very bad idea, as the bridge suddenly pitched to one side and he was unable to retain his balance, though no one else seemed to be having similar issues. He didn’t hit the hard deck though, bruised cheek landing on a blue clad chest. Even dazed and more unconscious than not, Jim recognized the soft, rounded body beneath his head as a woman’s and let out a wheezing laugh. Bones would totally mock him about this later, he knew, almost hearing the older man’s voice in his head. Passing out and you still manage to cop a feel. Only you, Jim.

The last thing Jim Kirk was aware of was being gently lowered to the floor. Then the black that had been lingering at the edges of his vision closed in and he knew no more.

* * *

The emergency surgery necessary to remove the creepy little Romulan parasite from Captain Pike’s brain stem took over eight hours to complete. After finalizing the procedures and getting the older officer comfortably situated on a bed in sickbay proper, Leonard McCoy gratefully pulled off his sterile gown and cap and ran a weary hand over his face. He and the rest of the medical staff had the opportunity for little to no rest since their deployment. All of them were running on an unhealthy combination of stims and rapidly flagging adrenaline.

Doctor Puri and several ranking nurses had been killed during the initial confrontation with the Romulans and the staff that remained consisted mostly of green, untested kids. The senior surviving RN, Christine Chapel, was maybe 23 years old and the rest of the support staff even younger. Glancing over at the cluster of nurses, Leonard tried to offer the exhausted young men and women a smile but he wasn’t sure he came close to succeeding.

With a sigh, he glanced around the still somewhat crowded room in search of Doctor Abigail Prewitt, the only other MD on board. A late comer to Starfleet like himself, Prewitt had been an ER doctor before signing up for the Academy, when her own messy divorce had left her yearning for a change of scenery. Since Leonard spent most of his time surrounded by significantly younger cadets, her company was a welcome change and a reminder that people could mature into reasonable, competent individuals.

If he ever voiced that opinion, she would have probably laughed and asked if he considered himself mature and reasonable. She’d been on duty at the campus clinic one night when he and Jim had tumbled in, half drunk and giggling, worse for the wear after a bar brawl. Normally, Leonard would have patched them up himself, allowing them to escape the disapproval of the staff at the medical center, but he’d broken his hand on a vaguely cro-magnon skull, so they’d had to seek other help.

Prewitt was standing over a biobed, dutifully checking a monitor. Dark smudges made her grey eyes look sunken in her pale face and a few tendrils of nearly black hair escaped from her ever present French braid. Leonard was certain he looked similarly haggard, all the way down to the fine worry lines around the eyes and mouth.

Approaching her, Leonard looked down at the bed and sighed. At least Jim seemed to be sleeping peacefully. “How bad was it?” he questioned Prewitt, whom he had sent to retrieve Kirk from the bridge as he himself rushed Pike into surgery.

“Had to resort to not so subtle hypospray threats before he relented,” Abigail informed him. “Then he passed out on the bridge. He was very co-operative after that.”

Leonard snorted. “Of course he crashed. The adrenaline and sheer stubbornness finally ran out,” he said, earning a nod from Prewitt, who wordlessly handed him Jim’s chart.

With another sigh Leonard began reading the litany of injuries his friend had suffered over the past two days. _Concussion…well, obviously. Dumb ass let himself be used as a Vulcan’s punching bag, not to mention whatever the hell happened to him over on the Narada…Fractured zygomatic arch, hematoma surrounding left eye, multiple facial lacerations and contusions, Trachea bruising and swelling…I’ll remind him of this the next time he plays antagonize-the-exponentially-stronger-alien… Repeatedly dislocated and reduced shoulder, 4 broken ribs, 6 cracked ribs, multiple contusions and lascerations to torso, some showing signs of infection, internal bleeding, fractured hand, three fractured meta-carples, multiple contusions and lascerations to legs, removed multiple fragments of rock from left thigh, torn ligaments in left knee…_

“How in blue blazes was he still functioning?” Leonard said in amazement, scanning the treatment records and approving of Prewitt’s methods. Jim had an almost freakishly high pain tolerance, but this was just…he didn’t even like to think about how much pain his friend must have been in.

Prewitt pushed a sturdy sickbay chair beside Jim’s bed. “Like you said, adrenaline and stubborness. Not unlike some other people I won’t mention.”

With that she gave Leonard a shove into the chair, causing him to scowl at her. She glared back and after a minute they traded nods to acknowledge the stalemate.

Glancing over at the small cluster of nurses, Leonard said, “Okay, half of you get some sleep. The rest of you check your patients then sit before you fall down.”

The nurses scurried to comply and Prewitt pulled another chair over to Pike’s bed. It made sense, considering he was the most critical patient at the moment and Leonard wasn’t quite ready to abandon Jim’s bedside just yet.

Slouching as much as the stiff chair allowed, Leonard rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the exhaustion deep in his bones. Jim was sleeping the deep slumber of the heavily medicated, needing rest in order to allow his body to heal. Even as he lay there, the biobed hummed, working to repair damaged muscles, to strengthen newly healed bones and reduce new scarring.

From the readout displayed over Jim’s head, every regen pad in the bed’s structure was in use, working on the bruises, cuts, contusions and strains. Even muscle groups that hadn’t been directly injured had been abused as Jim pushed himself to his limits and beyond to save them all.

“You did good, kid. You did good,” Leonard murmured, reaching out and taking Jim’s hand in his own. The bed gave a beep, adjusting to his presence within the regen field. Moments later, he felt the tingle in his muscles that told him it was alleviating the muscle strains left from hours of delicate surgery.

As much as Leonard hated seeing his friend injured, his stomach clenched when he thought about what would have happened had Jim not been on the Enterprise. They would have flown into the Romulan ambush unaware. Nero might still have taken Pike, but Vulcan would have still been destroyed and Earth probably would have followed.

Earth. Where Joanna was. Where Jim would have been if he’d stayed at the Academy. Lily, his sister, was on planet between off-world news assignments….

It would have been a horribly cruel irony if he, who still disliked space flight, could have survived because he was on a starship while the people he loved did not…That wasn’t really survival.

Giving himself a mental shake, Leonard refused to dwell on what might have been. Sure, he knew he could be cynical, but some things were just too dark to ponder.

Jim had been where he needed to be and had pulled a miracle out of his ass. He had survived and, amidst so much death and destruction, Leonard figured it wasn’t a bad idea to cling to any positive thoughts he could find.

* * *

Twenty-four hours into their long journey back to Earth, Ensign Pavel Chekov made his way to the engineering deck. On Commander Spock’s order (prompted by Doctor McCoy, who Chekov found rather intimidating), he had taken eight hours of rest, gratefully collapsing on his bunk before returning to his duties with renewed enthusiasm. When he approached Mr. Spock with a proposal that could increase the speed the damaged ship was capable of tolerating, the Vulcan had told him to bring the idea to Mr. Scott.

The Scottish Engineer had been nothing but friendly to everyone aboard, but the bordering-on-manic energy he seemed to exude made Chekov a bit uneasy. It was just the idea of having that sort of intensity focused on him that he found unnerving. It was like public speaking, just not something he was comfortable with.

Engineering was a study of chaos in motion. Valves were venting steam and smoke, various and sundry fluids leaked from compromised pipes and crewmen were running purposefully from place to place.

“Excuse me,” He said to an ensign not that many years older than himself, who was lugging a large, strange and more than likely non-regulation tool from one oozing crack to another. “Could you tell me vere to find Mr. Scott.”

The grease covered ensign shrugged and bellowed, “Scotty!”

From deep in the bowels of the cavernous room a voice echoed back. “WHAT?!”

“Just follow his voice,” the ensign told Chekov as he resumed his task, leaving Pavel to make his way into the maze of conduits alone.

As he picked his way up onto the suspended walkway (which swayed in a vaguely ominous manner) , Chekov found himself ducking and weaving around oddly low hanging bits of the ship and harried crewmen. He gave an especially wide berth to two crewmen who appeared to be rerouting an energy hub and were liberally spewing expletives at the recalcitrant circuitry. A shower of sparks made him duck and cover, and when he reached a safe vantage point he looked up.

An officer was straddling a coolant pipe, re-welding a fissure with a nano-torch. Pausing, she flipped up her safety visor and called out, “Sorry Pavel!”

Jazmine was in his Advanced Statistical Mechanics class and usually had a sweet smile or a kind word for him. Pavel was very glad she had not been badly hurt during the chaos of battle. A small cut marred one of her round cheeks and she had a bandage that had probably been white at one point was wrapped around her forearm, but it didn’t seem to be troubling her any. “Is all right, Jaz,” he called up to her, then pointed in the direction he was heading. “Engineer Scott is this way, yes?”

“Last I heard he was working on the impulse manifold,” she told him grimly. “The casing split and two of the three drives are offline. So even if we could repair some of the hull cracks, we’re still a few days out of space dock.”

On full impulse drive, the Enterprise could make the trip from their current position beyond Vulcan space to Earth in a matter of hours, warp reducing the journey to minutes. But with the drive malfunctioning and the hull full of cracks, they were limping along at a mere fraction of that speed.

“Thanks,” he said, and grinned as she waved goodbye with the torch before flipping her visor back into place. 

Chekov heard Mr. Scott long before he saw him. The engineer was giving a strongly worded earful to an unfortunate crewman who had taken a mallet to a panel in an attempt to unbend a frame. Apparently, this action offended Mr. Scott’s sensibilities.

“Ya don’t hit a fine lady like Enterprise with a bloody great mallet!” Scott hollered at the hapless lieutenant, who was staring at the increasingly red-faced engineer. “Get out of here before I see how you like being whacked with this.”

He waved the mallet in the air and the lieutenant made a hasty retreat, skittering past Chekov and mumbling about insane highlanders.

The young ensign watched as Scott gave the console a gentle pat and said, “There now. He won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”

While Mr. Scott had proven himself a skilled engineer, Chekov entertained the thought that perhaps he had been stationed on Delta Vega because he was slightly deranged and Starfleet, deciding they didn’t want to lose his brilliant mind, chose to place him somewhere out of the way. Then again, many of the crew he found himself working with seemed a bit odd. The Acting Captain seemed to favor the tire-your-opponent-out-by-letting-them-hit-you-repeatedly approach to hand to hand combat. Mr. Spock, a Vulcan, had totally lost it on the bridge and nearly choked the life out of Kirk. The doctor, McCoy, seemed to be perpetually grumpy and annoyed with everyone, very unlike the kindly bedside manner of most medics Chekov had known. Even the comparatively normal helmsman, Sulu, liked to play with plants and swords.

Tentatively, Chekov asked, “Mr. Scott?”

“What?” the engineer said, and it came out as almost a whine. When he glanced up at the walkway where Chekov was still standing he said, “Oh, it’s you. What brings you down here, lad?”

Brandishing the PADD with his calculations, he stepped down to the deck beside Scott. “I had an idea that ve could use to reinforce the hull. The shields, they are designed to keep things from getting past and hitting the ship, but vat if ve could reduce and invert the shield bubble, bring it in close to the hull like the inner ones at star bases. It could act as a barrier around us, and keep in the atmosphere if the hull does leak.”

Scott looked at the PADD and nodded. “A fine idea lad, but even if we could reinforce the hull, we only have the one, functional generator and the shield emitters are only intermittently working.”

Deflating, Chekov said, “But vould it help if ve could get the shields operational again?”

“Aye,” Scott said with a wry grin. “Knowing the ship’s not gonna crack down the middle at any second is always a help, but I don’t have enough man power to get to any more repairs right now. We’re fighting to keep the engine we have alive.”

Chekov paused, then said, “Perhaps Mr. Spock would allow me to begin repairs on the emitter array.”

This made Scott grin and clap him on the shoulder. “Initiative! Good on you, lad. Can’t hurt to ask, now can it.”

With that, Scott noticed something and went scooting up an access ladder, leaving Chekov to find his way through engineering alone again. As a burnt looking valve suddenly crashed to the floor not five feet from him and a disembodied voice shouted, “Sorry!”, he decided it was time to make his exit.

* * *

After the intense, adrenaline fueled rush of the past few days, Hikaru Sulu found a sort of peace in making minor course corrections as the Enterprise crept back towards Earth. Compared to other parts of the ship, the bridge was quiet and more or less intact. In fact the only real physical remnant of the ships battles and near miss with a black hole was the cracked view screen, which was obviously not a priority repair, and a few dark, non-functional consoles.

Commander Spock had been dividing his time between fielding calls from Starfleet (Including one from Admiral Barnett, the Academy Commandant, who had sputtered, “KIRK! Of all the cadets on the ship, the one who WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THERE ended up in command! How….” The transmission had been lost then and Sulu though Uhura looked a bit too innocent not to have been involved with that particular bit of good fortune), coordinating repairs (Mr. Scott did seem to be a brilliant engineer, but his organizational skills were still in question) and dealing with his father and the other Vulcan passengers. Presently, the man was reviewing reports from various departments outlining the progress of repairs.

At communications, Uhura was screening incoming transmissions. Most seemed to be in a similar vein as Admiral Barnett’s and, after about the twentieth such hail, significant rolling interference appeared on the comm frequencies. 

“Did not copy your last transmission. We’re still having equipment malfunctions,” Uhura broadcast to the latest shrieking official before disconnecting the channel with a barrage of static.

Catching her eye, Sulu offered her a sympathetic smile and she grinned in return, rolling her eyes to indicate her exasperation with the constant stream of repetitive calls.

His console let out a quiet beep and Sulu glanced down. A small, person to person message screen had popped up on the corner of his console. It read:

_To: Sulu, Hikaru--Helmsman_  
From: Uhura, Nyota—Communications  
You’d think the admiralty would talk things out amongst themselves and not feel the need to try and individually interrogate Spock. 

_Smiling to himself, he quickly replied._

_Sulu:  
They’re probably not used to having to wait so long for a debrief of an encounter that occurred so close to HQ._

_Uhura:  
True. Hey, where’s Chekov? Isn’t he on this shift?_

_Sulu:  
He’s trying to recalibrate the shield emitters to reinforce the hull. From what I hear, it’s not going too well._

_Uhura:  
At least he’s able to do something productive. It’s times like this I wish my on board duties were a bit more active._

_Sulu:  
: ) I know how you feel. During tricky maneuvers, that’s when my job is the best. Right now a trained monkey…or an autopilot could get us back to Earth._

_Uhura:  
Well for the time being, let’s hope your job remains boring. I think one captain and an acting captain in sickbay is already more than enough. Any news on them?_

_Sulu:  
I overheard some of the nurses saying McCoy worked magic pulling a parasite out of Pike’s brain without destroying his spinal cord. Said they thought he’d be totally paralyzed, but he should walk again at some point._

_Uhura:  
Wow. I’ve heard McCoy is good, despite the rep he and Kirk have accumulated._

_Sulu:  
Did you hear about the time Kirk picked a fight in a bar with a Nausican, got knocked on his ass and McCoy sent the other guy running with a broken beer bottle and a whole lot of creative cussing?_

_Uhura:  
No, but that sounds about right. They kind of adopted each other on the shuttle to the Academy. McCoy threw up on Kirk, who took it in stride. How is he, by the way?_

_Sulu:  
He’ll be okay. The nurses said Doctor Prewitt put a tube down his throat to help him breathe._

_Uhura:  
Ewww!_

Another messenger box popped up on Sulu’s screen.

_To: Sulu, Hikaru--Helmsman, Uhura, Nyota--Communications_  
From: Spock--First Officer  
Please refrain from using official messengers for gossip while on duty. 

Sulu and Uhura both glanced at Spock, who still seemed engrossed in his reports, but raised his eyes momentarily to cock a brow in their direction.

Properly chastised, they went back to their duties and performed in their usual exemplary fashion.

* * *

The first thing that registered in Captain Christopher Pike’s mind as he swam back to consciousness was that he was no longer in agonizing pain. In fact, he wasn’t feeling any pain at all. What he did feel was an annoying itch on the tip of his nose and he laboriously attempted to raise a hand to swat it away. The medicated haze began to fade as he accomplished his goal (accidentally slapping himself twice before managing tow swipe at the itch) and a voice beside him said, “You’re awake! Sir, can you hear me?”

Opening his eyes didn’t seem to be quite the monumental achievement scratching his nose had been and Pike allowed his eyelids to snap open. The flood of light that seared into his brain instantly made him regret overestimating his current state of well-being.

There was a flurry of activity above him and the same voice said, “Let me get the light.”

The glaring brightness dimmed to tolerable levels and Pike blinked the source of the voice into focus. A young blond nurse was hovering over him, smiling hopefully. “How are you feeling, Sir?”

_What was her name?_ He’d looked over the crew roster before they’d departed. _Medical, Nurse…Church! No, Chapel. Nurse Chapel._ “Far better than…how long ago did I get back aboard, Nurse Chapel?”

She smiled, making a note in his chart, probably indicating his memory was at least partially intact, as he had remembered her name. “Nearly three days ago, Sir. You’ve been asleep for the past 68 hours.”

“And before that?” He was confused. If 3 days had past, why was he still aboard Enterprise and not at Starfleet Medical?

“Surgery. I’ll get one of the doctors over here to review things with you,” she glanced to one side, opened her mouth to call out, but remained silent as the sound of violent retching filled the room.

_That doesn’t sound good,_ Pike thought and slowly craned his neck to see what poor bastard was trying to hack up his stomach lining on to the, well it wasn’t quite pristine anymore, sickbay floor.

A few beds over, Dr. Leonard McCoy was supporting James Kirk as the younger man heaved into a basin. The doctor managed to look annoyed, exasperated and affectionately concerned without ever shifting his expression. “Damn it Jim,” McCoy was saying as Kirk paused his Olympic Caliber gastronomic display, “I’ve seen tsetse flies with higher tolerances for medications than you.”

“’M fine, Bones,” Kirk panted, letting his sweat dotted brow drop against his friends shoulder. “Just need a minute.”

“Moron,” McCoy muttered none too quietly, but never the less rubbed his friend’s back in a soothing, circular motion.

Over the past three years, Pike had found their interactions a constant source of amusement. From the shuttle ride to the Academy, when McCoy had deposited the contents of his own stomach onto Kirk, who had, according to witnesses, shrugged it off and said, “Not like that’s never happened before.”, to their exploits that made it to the officers grapevine, to their odd rooming situation. Pike actually smiled when he recalled the day that became official.

_“It’s only been two months, and he’s already driven out five roommates!” Lieutenant Starsa Lien, the officer in charge of cadet housing moaned to Captain Christopher Pike as the pair glanced over review of the students Pike had been responsible for recruiting._

_Chris didn’t even need to ask to which cadet she was referring, as he’d seen and heard about this ongoing drama before. “He’s still acclimating to the environment in the dorms,” he defended Jim Kirk, thankful the kid was more than excelling in his classes to an extent that the school administrators were willing to give him some leeway. Chris had put up a fight to push through Kirk’s last minute acceptance and some of his colleagues disapproved of his…colorful record. They preferred their cadets squeaky clean and fresh from one of the pre-Academy prep schools, already used to protocol and Starfleet regulations._

_Jim Kirk was the antithesis of those cadets and currently blowing all of them out of the water academically._

_“First there was Cadet Jefferies, who requested a transfer officially due to ‘conflicting extra-curricular schedules’. Okay, that was fine. Then Cadet Tok, who ‘found Kirk’s weird disappearing and reappearing acts creepy and not conducive to an atmosphere of study.’ The rumor is Kirk has found a way around curfew, we just can’t seem to catch him. Then there was Delahoy…”_

_“The one who was beating his girlfriend,” Pike said grimly. “Kirk took the demerits for taking things into his own hands in that case. Can’t say I blame him though.”_

_Lien shook her head and continued. “Next we have Cadet Garrano, whose complaint was about ‘the smell! Whole frickin’ room smells like a brothel all the time!” We conducted a few surprise inspections and found no evidence of a smell, but Garrano insisted on the transfer. Finally we have Cadet Lamont, who wants out because, and I quote, ‘He’s a freaky guy. On one of the rare nights he actually slept in the room the guy had a nightmare and I went to wake him and he slugged me!’ What are we going to do? No one wants to bunk with the guy. In the sense of sharing a room, that is.”_

_Pike looked through the files. “Says here, Cadet McCoy offered to room with him.”_

_“McCoy’s a doctor. Cadets in the medical track that already have MD’s get their own rooms, one of the recruitment perks,” the Lieutenant said , dropping her head into her hands with a sigh._

_“So?” Pike shrugged. “Nothing in the rules that forbids a doctor from having a roommate. And he did offer. Let then room together.”_

_Lien gave him a look and said, “There’s also the fact that literally half of the cadet involved bar fights in the area involve Kirk. Oh, he doesn’t start them, but he does brawl a lot and by the time security arrives McCoy is usually busy patching Kirk up…if he wasn’t too involved in the fight himself. It’s like their individual craziness and poor judgment feeds off of each other and multiplies.”_

_Pike considered this, then nods. “Put them together. Let’s see what happens.” _

He had obviously been right to insist on their rooming arrangements, as both had been stellar performers in all their classes over the course of the past several years. Both had completed four year programs in three, taking firsts in all their classes (first and second in the few classes they shared), shooting through their specialties like intensely burning stars. Often times, tales of their exploits proved entertaining story fodder among the officers. McCoy, or Bones as Kirk called him, had a reputation for being a tough, no nonsense physician with an acerbic wit and a low tolerance for fools. Kirk continued to run at everything like he was attacking an enemy, be it class work, sex or drinking. Together though, they were a force to be reckoned with on campus.

Even some of the more…traditional (meaning stubbornly conservative and elitist assholes, though Chris played politics far too well to actually say such things) teachers on staff bemoaned the fact that Kirk and McCoy had come to the Academy late. Had they arrived earlier it was thought they would have been less bull headed and confidant, more easily led and thus molded into the sort of officers those professors wanted.

Chris had the feeling that was a bull shit theory.

Kirk was Kirk and McCoy was McCoy.

Neither was the type to be someone’s pawn.

Chapel’s voice drew him back to the present. “Perhaps, Dr. Prewitt would be a better option,” she said and proceeded to catch the other physicians attention.

“Good to see you awake, Sir,” Prewitt--Abigail Prewitt, Pike reminded himself-- greeted him brusquely, accepting the chart Chapel handed off to her before moving on to another patient. 

Sickbay was crowded.

Pike looked at the doctor, noted the signs of exhaustion and strain and asked, “Why haven’t I been transferred to Starfleet medical yet? My injuries, are they….”

He didn’t even want to think about how extensive his injuries must have been if they couldn’t even beam him directly to a treatment room on Earth. 

Thankfully, Prewitt was shaking her head. “No, Sir, you’re stable. Doctor McCoy was able to remove the parasite from your brain without causing permanent injury. You are in store for a long PT regime though and will need to use a chair until the therapist says you’ve progressed enough.”

Glancing down, Pike muttered, “I was wondering why I couldn’t fell my feet.”

Prewitt smiled and continued, “Leonard worked some of his magic on you, but we don’t have the sort of specialized equipment onboard to complete the nerve regeneration. You’re still aboard ship because we’re still about two day out from Earth. The Warp Core is gone and the impulse drives are barely hanging on, so we’re not setting any speed records. Not to worry though, we’re able to provide the highest standards of urgent care right here.”

From Kirk’s area they heard another bellow of, “Ow! Stop it! You sadist! Another hypospray! Again!”

Heaving the younger man into an upright sitting position supported by his own spine, McCoy scowled at him and waved the hypo menacingly. “Stop your whining, Kid. It’s just an old school anti-emetic that even your delicate constitution should be able to handle.”

Pike raised a brow at Prewitt. “The highest standard of care?”

The grin she flashed was far more unnerving than her previous countance. “But of course,” she chirped, “Nothing but the best!”

He never even saw the hypospray that sent him back to a recuperative sleep, wondering if Starfleet Medical taught seminars on how to be ninjas with the damn things.

* * *

Jim Kirk was not happy to discover Captain Pike had woken up just in time to hear him vomiting up just about everything he had ever eaten. It would have made a far better impression had he been mobile and not confined to a bunk in sickbay, but he decide not to defy Bones quite yet. The doctor made it clear he was not to leave yet, and, if Jim chose to go AMA, he would, “Hunt his stupid, reckless ass down and knock him out the old fashioned way!” While Jim was fairly certain his friend wouldn’t follow through with his threat, especially not while he was still recuperating from all his other injuries, he wouldn’t put it past Bones to form a posse out of his crankier staff members and just drag him back.

Hours later, Jim was feeling a bit jumpy by the time Pike woke up again. He hadn’t thrown up in nearly an hour and was restlessly reading a PADD while sitting up in bed. After McCoy, Prewitt and a random nurse finished checking the captain over, they retreated to confer over the new test results, but did not drug him back into unconsciousness.

Pike heaved a sigh and looked over at Jim. “I’m beginning to regret blindly agreeing with all of Puri’s crew requests,” he informed Jim wearily, awkwardly smoothing the blanket the nurse had tugged up to his chest.

“How so?” Jim wasn’t sure what he meant.

“Ben Puri was a great doctor, best I’ve ever served with,” Pike informed him, then smiled. “He was also…well, by comparison McCoy’s just a ray of happy, happy sunshine. From what I’ve seen, Ben filled a staff with people who wouldn’t annoy him by being all perky and happy. I think I heard Prewitt growl at one of the diagnostic tools.”

Jim grinned at Pike. Bones himself had a habit at snarling at recalcitrant technology. Kirk teased him about it occasionally, but he had a feeling Pike wouldn‘t normally have commented on such things. “They’re still giving you the good drugs, huh?”

“Damn straight.”

The next three hours were filled with meandering conversations, little tidbits of information and occasional intrusions from a member of the medical staff, poking and prodding, looking for god knows what.

Despite Bones’ earlier threat, Jim impressed upon him the importance of being back on the bridge at least a full day before they reached Earth. The doctor had grumbled additional sarcastic threats, but, since it had been four hours since Jim had last attempted to redecorate sickbay with his insides, he released him.

Conditionally.

Jim walked out of medical after receiving a stern warning to take it easy. Bones chose to reinforce this directive by tightly binding Jim’s ribs, knee, wrist and shoulder with regen dressings to strengthen his abused muscles, ligaments and barely healed bones. Most of the bandages were hidden under the uniform, but the one encircling his wrist was visible. As he rode the turbo lift to the bridge, Jim considered unwrapping the dressing again, but hesitated. He wouldn’t put it past Bones to have booby trapped the bandage to somehow inform him if Jim took it off.

Once ensconced in the relative comfort of the command chair, Jim got caught up on the progress of ships repairs, all the while feeling like a half unwrapped mummy. More than once he caught members of the bridge crew eyeing him as though they expected him to keel over onto the deck again. He even caught Spock eyeing the now yellowing bruises on his throat (apparently, the dermal regenerators were shorting out from over use, so, while the dangerous, internal damage was healed, the surface damage had been left to linger), something like guilt written on his pale face. No one said anything about his injuries, but they just kept watching him. It was unsettling.

Scotty’s arrival was a relief. He appeared on the bridge to update Jim on the impulse drives, took one look at him and blurted, “You look like you’ve insulted a whole battalion of Klingon’s mothers, lad. Ugh”.

Then he moved on and got down to business. The impulse drive was still holding up (_She’s a fine girl, Captain. She’ll see us home_). Chekov’s Shield Emitter Hull Stabilization project was a success (_Sharp as a tack, that one,_ Scott had said of the pleased ensign).

As they approached Vulcan space, Sulu turned in his chair to face Jim and commented, “Sir, our current course will take us within one light year of…where Vulcan used to be. The fleet…if there is any chance….”

Jim could feel the tension mingled with the hope radiating from the crew around him. Spock looked…like Spock, but everyone knew the destruction of his home world of the loss of his mother had wounded him deeply. Emotionally, he probably wasn't ready to return to the scene of such a holocaust, but the Narada had destroyed seven ships of the fleet before obliterating Vulcan. Chances were slim, but there could be survivors trapped in the wreckage, wounded and running low on breathable air.

“The Lieutenant is right,” Spock said, quite voice echoing in the silence of the bridge. “It is our duty to at least attempt to save our fellow officers if at all possible.”

With a nod, Jim said, “Alter course, Mr. Sulu.”

An attempt to apprise Starfleet of their detour proved fruitless, as the radiation and subspace interference left behind in the wake of a planetary implosion rendered long-range communications useless.

Enterprise slowed as they approached the graveyard of ships, the final resting place of so many good men and women. Recovery ships would be sent in time, ships with equipment specially designed to locate and recover organic remains in space so families (some of them at least) would have something to bury. 

But the wounded Enterprise had none of these specialized tools.

They could only do what they could.

“Scan for life signs,” Jim murmured, cringing slightly as piece of hull with part of the Mayflower's serial number when spinning past the view screen.

“Filtering out residual radiation will take 2.63 minutes, Captain,” Spock replied, to which Jim nodded.

“Scotty, be ready to beam aboard survivors when Spock feeds you the coordinates,” he said quickly. “Bones, you ready?”

“Aye, Captain,” came Scotty's reply, followed by Bones’s drier, “Ready as were gonna be.”

Jim knew his friend and the rest of the medical staff or pushing themselves beyond limits, practically overdosing on stimulants. He was willing to bet Bones and Prewitt hadn't had more than a handful of hours of sleep between them in the past five days.

Even Jim had spent some time unconscious in Sickbay.

That totally counted as sleep.

After what seemed like the longest 2.63 minutes ever, Spock spoke again. “I am reading numerous pockets of multiple life signs, as well as scattered singular readings. Transferring data to Transporter Room One.”

Spock tapped a few keys and a diagram of the debris field filled the screen, small, glowing green dots indicating survivors. There were more than two dozen, a tiny fraction of thousands who'd been aboard the ships, but after so many lost, even a few seemed a victory.

As three green dots disappeared, whisked away by a transporter, Spock said, “One of those crewmen is and Orion.”

At her station, Uhura made a quiet, pleased sound and Jim smiled. The first and only Orion in the ‘fleet was Uhura’s friend and roommate, Gaila. He was quite glad to hear she'd survived as well. Jim had a lot of ‘friends’, but very few people he really liked who also like him and kind of understood him.

“Lieutenant Uhura, comms are going to down until we clear this radiation,” Jim said, giving her an understanding smile. “Why don't you go down to see if Bones could use some help.” 

Always quick on the uptake, Uhura hurried to the turbo lift without pause, tossing a quick, “Aye, Captain,” in his direction, knowing he was allowing her to go check on their friend.

It was haunting, but they spent the next three hours searching the wreckage for further signs of survivors. In the end, 31 people were plucked from dying bits of the Mayflower, Antares, Farragut, Hood and Walcott. No one survived the destruction of either the Armstrong or the Truman.

All hands were lost.

What a terrible epitaph for good, distinguished ship.

After having Sulu put them on a course back to Earth, Jim excused himself from the bridge and made his way down to Sickbay. Critical cases were being kept there and overflow were being treated in nearby, emptied storage rooms. A quick glance at the darkened surgical alcove told Jim neither Bones nor Prewitt had rushed any new arrivals off to emergency surgery.

Every treatment bed was occupied by a sleeping man or woman, as were a multitude of makeshift cots. A single man who looked painfully young in his nurses blues watched over them all and gave Jim a shaky nod. “Dr. McCoy is in…well, we're calling the storage rooms annexes, so he's in Annex three.”

Annex did sound better than storeroom.

Even in the busy medical Annex, Gaila’s bright green skin caused her to stand out in the crowd. The lovely Orion was seated on a cargo crate, leg awkwardly propped up in front of her. One of her cheeks was smudged with orange blood and her expression was pained, but she had clearly escaped critical injury.

Uhura was standing beside her as the two of them watched Bones work on another patient a few meters away. The man had some nasty burns up the length of his back, but they faded as Bones work his magic.

“How are you feeling?” Jim asked Gaila as he stepped up beside the two women.

Gaila offered him a wavering smile and said, “Lucky. Uhura’s been telling me what happened…I can’t believe it!”

“No one can,” Bones grunted without looking up from what he was doing. “Each and every one of us suffering from some degree of shock.”

Though he did not say so, Jim agreed. He couldn't even begin to guess how many of them were PTSD episodes just waiting to happen.

“I've been taking names of survivors,” Uhura said, handing Jim a small tablet.

Glancing down, he saw she listed name, rank, species, specialty and ship. He didn't know if it had simply been to give herself something to do more if it was a natural, slightly OCD impulse. 

1\. Gaila Verdeen ~ Cadet Lieutenant ~ Orion ~ Engineering ~ Hood  
2\. Jefferson Barnes ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Human ~ Helm/Pilot ~ Hood  
3\. Emma Morrison ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Human ~ Security ~ Hood  
4\. Steve Evans ~ Lieutenant ~ Human ~ Security ~ Mayflower  
5\. Tony Downey ~ Lieutenant ~ Human ~ Engineering ~ Mayflower  
6\. T’Prin ~ Visiting Specialist ~ Vulcan ~ Engineering ~ Mayflower  
7\. Zev ~ Cadet Lieutenant ~ Andorian ~ Helm/Pilot ~ Antares  
8\. Assan Fayed ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Human ~ Navigation ~ Walcott  
9\. Nicholas Mankuba ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Human ~ Engineering ~ Antares  
10\. Katie Riley ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Human ~ Security ~ Farragut  
11\. Prymla ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Denobulan ~ Botany ~ Antares  
12\. Shral ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Andorian ~ Engineering ~ Mayflower  
13\. Vi Motta ~ Cadet lieutenant ~ Deltan ~ Helm/Pilot ~ Hood  
14\. Chilut ~ Ensign ~ Grazerite ~ Security ~ Farragut  
15\. William Wagner ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Human ~ Security ~ Antares  
16\. Tessa Dallas ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Human ~ Helm/Pilot ~ Hood  
17\. Xinla Mor’el ~ Lieutenant ~ Zaranite ~ Engineering ~ Hood  
18\. Markee Buzt ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Bzzit Khant ~ Engineering ~ Walcott  
19\. Aaron Jinks ~ Cadet Lieutenant ~ Human ~ Security ~ Walcott  
20\. Claudia Scaglotti ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Human ~ Engineering ~ Walcott  
21\. Shet ~ Ensign ~ Andorian ~ Helm/Pilot ~ Hood  
22\. Yoshiro Tanaka ~ Cadet Lieutenant ~ Human ~ Helm/Pilot ~ Hood  
23\. Vort Brompk ~ Cadet Lieutenant ~ Kasheeta ~ Engineering ~ Antares  
24\. Jaques Valmont ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Human ~ Communications ~ Farragut  
25\. James Kalakuana ~ Ensign ~ Human ~ Communications ~ Farragut  
26\. Wharup Zo ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Xelatian ~ Communications ~ Farragut  
27\. K’Rondry Dral ~ Lieutenant j.g. ~ Tellertite ~ Communications ~ Farragut  
28\. Emily Bryant ~ Cadet Ensign ~ Human ~ Security ~ Mayflower  
29\. Andrea Holden ~ Lieutenant ~ Human ~ Security ~ Mayflower  
30\. Rick Lincoln ~ Lieutenant ~ Human ~ Security ~ Mayflower  
31\. Daryl Reedus ~ Lieutenant ~ Human ~ Security ~ Mayflower

“When the ship broke up, the pressure doors came down…at least, some of them did,” Gaila said, shaking her head slowly in disbelief, still trying to process what had happened. “We’d barely even realized we were being attacked when we lost. Captain Stewart ordered an emergency evacuation. Everyone was heading for the shuttles when we got trapped. Spinning, no internal dampeners….”

Trapped in a dead ship, no idea if help was coming…that had to have been horrific. No idea what to say, Jim reached out and gave her arm a light squeeze. For a moment, he stood there, then said, “I’ll check in on you later. I’ve just got to….”

“Go be captain,” she finished with a little smile. “I hear you’re good at it.”

He gave her a nod of thanks and moved off looking around the room until he spotted the lone Vulcan in the room. T’Prin was young by Vulcan standards, not much older than Spock, exotically lovely with elven features. She’d also been trapped aboard a husk of a ship while her nearby home world died.

Crouching by Bones, Jim murmured, “Has anyone spoken with Specialist T’Prin about….?”

Bones paused for a moment then shook his head briskly. 

“Okay,” Jim replied, steeling his nerves and completing his trip across the room to tell a wounded woman that her world was no more.

Once she was released, Jim led her down to the rooms the Vulcan refugees aboard had gathered in, leaving her in the care of her own people, so they could mourn together.

When he returned to the bridge, he tried to present everyone with the image that he did not want to find a soft spot where he could curl up and sleep for a week. In honesty, he only managed to fight off the exhaustion thanks to a stim Bones sent up with a sightly wild eyed nurse.

 

By the time they approached Earth’s moon, Jim felt he was as ready as he could ever be to face the brass, most of whom seemed more shocked than angry about his role in recent events, if Uhura’s interpretation of scrambled communications was to be believed.

“Spacedock is hailing us,” Uhura reported from her station. “We’re to dock there and the crew will be shuttled down to headquarters for a debrief. There are medical transports and crews waiting to take charge of the injured as well.”

Kirk nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Mr. Sulu, take us in.”

“Aye, sir,” the helmsman replied, smoothly completing the docking procedure with barely a jostle.

Rising slowly from his chair (Kirk laughed silently to himself over the fact that his mind was already calling it his chair), Kirk looked around at the men and women on the bridge and said, “In the event I don’t get to say this later, it’s been an honor serving with each and every one of you. Now, let’s go see the admiralty.”

* * *

With its limited defensive and maneuvering capabilities, Nero had clearly not seen Spacedock 1 as any kind of threat to his plans. The station, which, in some incarnation, had been orbiting Earth since Starfleet’s nascent days, had taken a few hits, but the Romulans had obviously thought it would be destroyed along with Earth, thrusters nowhere near strong enough to escape the gravity well of a black hole.

Normally, one would find between four and 10 ships berthed at Spacedock, undergoing repairs or waiting to be launched. Smaller stations were equipped to deal with commercial vessels, but SD1 was generally used for Starfleet purposes, as many of their ships required specialized care.

Eight ships had been docked at the time of Nero's attack on Vulcan. All had launched in hopes of providing aid to their allies.

Only Enterprise returned.

Several of the pylons appeared to be damaged, one missing entirely, but they were directed to a still functional berth and Sulu smoothly brought the ship into position.

“Spacedock’s tractor beams have us in place,” Sulu reported with a sigh, clearly glad to be home. “Station crews are extending umbilicals to the airlocks.”

“Beta shift, report to your bridge stations,” Kirk said tiredly, knowing his senior officers would be wanted for immediate debriefs. This was going to be a three ring circus.

As soon as the airlock doors rolled open, his predictions were approved accurate.

Waiting in the docking bay were dozens of doctors, nurses, trauma and grief councilors, engineers and one beleaguered Space dock administrator. Commander Reed managed to make his way over to Kirk and informed him that Starfleet brass wanted him and the rest of the senior staff on a shuttle back to headquarters. Now. He was also kind enough to let them know that the media was going all kinds of insane after details of the situation had leaked and the Presidio had been under siege by reporters and camera crews for days.

The only reason there weren't reporters crawling all over the station was the fact that all planetside, non-Starfleet flights had been grounded until only hours earlier and Spacedock was still under restricted access.

As the shuttle flew over the grounds of the Academy and Starfleet Headquarters, they all saw what he meant. A veritable sea of news types were camped out on the lawns.

“Would you look at that!” Scotty breathed in awe and the others could only nod in agreement. Well, the others except for Bones, who was too busy muttering about being forced to leave his patients in the care of other doctors to even notice the sight or bemoan his aviaphobia (which Jim knew he'd gotten a handle on over the past three years, but still liked to complain about).

“So many,” Chekov murmured nervously, as the shuttle descended toward the landing pad. “Why are they here now? Surely someone has already issued a statement.”

The honest, high fear in his voice actually pierced through McCoy’s fog of resentment and the doctor glanced out the window. With a fierce scowl, he said, “They want a money shot. The Big Damn Hero picture. Good PR after such a devastating event.”

This cynical but true statement got a bunch of different reactions. Their pilot cleared his throat nervously but said nothing. Kirk frowned and attempted to slump further into his seat, wincing as the motion compressed still tender ribs. Scotty seemed to agree with McCoy’s assessment and closed his eyes as if to get a moments peace before the onslaught. Spock maintained his calm façade, but it was clear he found the exploitative nature of the media distasteful. Uhura and Sulu both had lost many friends aboard the destroyed ships and looked mad enough to spit. Chekov just looked stricken, his face losing all color, then promptly going a sickly shade of green.

“Hell no,” McCoy muttered, arm shooting out to deposit a dose of something into Chekov’s neck. The ensign yelped in surprise, hand coming up to clasp the abused flesh. At least the blitz attack seemed to bypass whatever urge the young man had to vomit.

Still clutching his neck, Pavel asked, “What was that?”

“My own little cocktail of anti-nausea/ anti-anxiety meds. I’ve take to carrying them with me on shuttle flights,” McCoy said somewhat smugly as they landed with a thump.

Jim grinned at him. “After Commander Hawke confiscated your flask?”

McCoy grunted in a manner most would consider noncommittal, but Jim recognized as a combination of agreement and the commentary that Commander Hawke was a fuck-head.

Jim spoke fluent grumpy doctor.

Uhura would totally be jealous if she knew it was a language.

“Here we go,” Scotty intoned in a far quieter voice than they had become used to hearing from him. “Steady on.”

Over the course of their short service on Enterprise, the crew had heard lots of loud noises. Exploding panels, torpedo and phaser impacts, shrieks of pain, cracking hulls and straining engines, but none of it matched the din generated by the mass of media types waiting outside the shuttle. Reporters and tele-vid personalities shouted questions, lights from vid cameras blazed and there were even flashes of light from archaic still photography cameras. Thankfully, the majority of the mob was held back behind waist high concrete barriers that made a path from the landing pad to the steps of Starfleet Headquarters central building.

A small cluster of administrative types, commanders who spent the majority of their time lecturing or strapped to desks, stood in the cleared path. Three of them looked harried but not belligerent, while the fourth, obviously the alpha-paper pusher, wore a disapproving frown, though it did seem to simply be his default expression instead of some commentary about his feelings toward them.

Waving them down the ramp, the scowler said, “Welcome home. I’m Commander Ford. The admiralty and Incident Response Coordinator are going over your reports. We’ve got a room set up for you to wait in…away from…all this.”

The man gave a disdainful glance to the chaotic civilians. When the Enterprise crew exited the shuttle, the shouting and bids for attention redoubled and the admin officers tried to flank them and lead the way quickly along the blocked off path.

All the voices seemed to blur together into one loud roar, even the ones shouting out individual names. Most of them shouted out for Kirk, trying variations such as Captain, or Jim or James. Some shouted for Commander Spock or Scott, while still others called out for Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Uhura or Sulu and Ensign Chekov.

They were about halfway to the steps when a voice actually registered with Jim.

“LEO! You sumbitch, over here!”

From the way McCoy stiffened, Jim knew he’d heard the unusual hail (and the familiar voice) and before anyone could react, the doctor had broken away from the group and was making a beeline for the clamoring reporters.

“Doctor McCoy!” said the exasperated Ford and the man let out an angry sigh as McCoy reached the barrier and proceeded to shove a camera out of his face.

Kirk shrugged a false apology to Ford and jogged over to Bones. Up close the crowd was deafening, going absolutely apeshit over the arrival of Kirk and McCoy practically in their midst.

Having made a little room with the liberal application of strong hands and pointy elbows, McCoy actually leaned over the half wall. Jim reached his side as the doctor hauled someone bodily over the barrier and against his chest.

“Don’t even think about it!” Kirk warned the particularly aggressive reporter who looked like she was about to decide that McCoy’s actions meant the barrier was only a suggestion. “Stay back!”

McCoy was already moving away from them and Jim matched his steps back to their group in time to hear, “You can put me down now, Leo.”

Now Jim really recognized the voice. Without preamble, Bones dropped his sister’s legs, allowing her sturdy tan boots to hit the walkway. As Lilah McCoy straightened, a little face popped up from where it had been burrowed into her shoulder. 

“Daddy!” Joanna McCoy’s little voice rang out clear and sweet as the four year old launched herself from her aunt’s arms to her father’s.

“JoJo!” The smile that graced Bones’ face was broad, real and absolutely stunning. Jim always said being around the little girl took ten years off the doctor and, as he had been looking a lot more worn out than usual, the effect was greater than ever. The surrounding cameras zoomed in on the reunion and Jim could practically hear them slavering.

“Hey Lily,” Jim said to Bones’ sister. Over the years, he’d gotten to know her quite well, as she was usually the one who brought Joanna for her visits.

“Jim,” she said, stepping close and giving him a hard hug that hurt his ribs but still felt wonderful. Nearly as tall as him, she brought her mouth close to his ear and whispered, “Thanks for bringing him back to us.”

With that, she stepped back and allowed her brother to draw her close with an arm around her shoulders. Jim grinned and said, “Come on, Bones. We can’t be making the brass types wait.”

* * *

Deep inside Starfleet Headquarters, in a large, tastefully appointed conference room, six admirals, four captains, four ambassadors, the commander of Starfleet’s Incident Response Command and the captain in charge of the fleet press office sat around a table stacked with PADD’s. They had been reading for hours, the silence punctuated only by the occasional groan or shocked utterance.

When word came through that the command crew of the Enterprise had finally been deposited in a comfortable waiting room, Admiral Jonathan Archer, son of Starfleet’s first warp capable ship’s Captain, looked around the table and said, “So, we’ve got a suspended cadet being snuck aboard ship, a brawl on the bridge that resulted in the aforementioned cadet taking command, an engineer who was stationed on Delta Vega ends up as chief engineer, a black hole destroyed Vulcan and there’s another lurking out there in the black. Oh and Captain Pike has suffered injuries that will more than likely restrict him to planet bound duties and we’ve lost seven ships, crews and the majority of the Academy’s upperclassmen. And those are just the highlights.”

“Our medical staff is been gutted,” Captain Phillip Boyce said, face pinched and very unhappy. “Destroyed. We sent so many of our people out with the ships that were….”

As the head of Starfleet medical, the man was taking the loss of all the doctors, nurses and medics personally.

“I’m still not clear how a bunch of cadets ended up in command!” Admiral Nicole Galifanakis exclaimed. “It just doesn’t make sense. I mean, there were other officers aboard, Lieutenants at least.”

Captain Jesse Charles, IRC, looked up from the PADD in his hand. “As unorthodox as they might be, they got the job done before any more planets were lost. It could've been much, much worse .”

“And they did it with dramatic flair!” Captain Andrew Filicia, press office said. “I know it’s unfortunate that the story got leaked, but the press is already turning them into media darlings. You have to admit, they’re perfect for recruiting posters, which we will be needing.”

Rebuilding their ranks would be an undertaking years in the making.

Filicia held up another PADD, on which pictures of the Enterprise’s crews arrival were scrolling as one of the networks aired them. The ones most often shown were them descending the shuttle ramp, McCoy swinging his delighted daughter around in his arms with a big smile and Kirk embracing a dark haired woman. Filicia sighed, “They’re a publicists dream, really.”

The others around the table gave the PR office sour looks and the man subsided with a grumble.

Admiral Divia Kapoor held up her PADD and demanded, “These are a publicists dream? You do realize that among the command team alone you have a former delinquent with a penchant for bar fights and casual sex, a doctor who is afraid to fly and, if I’m reading this correctly, made one or more of his instructors cry, an engineer with a history of experiments ending badly, a seventeen year old kid and an emotionally compromised Vulcan. Dear Lord.”

“How are we going to handle this?” Admiral Shrev said, Andorian antennae twitching in agitation.

No one had an easy answer for that.

* * *

The room arranged for the crew to wait in was quite comfortable. There were big, squishy chairs and couches and a table laden with food and drinks. Mr.’s Scott, Sulu and Chekov had descended upon the spread immediately upon entry and the others had helped themselves as soon as they felt they were no longer in imminent danger of losing any finger that strayed too close to food.

Nyota Uhura sat back on an overstuffed sofa, small plate balanced on her knees and discretely observed her colleagues.

Spock sat beside her, his own cup of tea untouched and rapidly cooling on the small end table. The loss of his home world and mother weighed heavily upon him, though he took some solace in knowing those responsible were no longer roaming around space, a danger to all. He’d done a good job hiding his intense anger, pain and grief, save for that one incident on the bridge, but she knew he was suffering and wished she knew how to make it better, though she doubted that was possible. Some wounds simply took time to heal.

Speaking of wounds, their walking wounded captain was perched on another sofa, a cushion held in his arms tight to his chest. She had seen McCoy shove it at him as they sat, but was unsure as to why, though she trusted the doctor had some reason. Despite the pillow, Kirk seemed in better spirits, picking steadily at his plate of sandwich and apple slices, listening to McCoy’s little girl chat away.

And wasn’t that a shock. McCoy had a kid, a beautiful little girl named Joanna whom the doctor had not released his grip on since she landed in his arms. At the moment, the little girl was nibbling on cheese and grapes between long, rambling bursts of conversation, telling her father about the drive from Atlanta to San Francisco she and her aunt had taken well the civilian shuttle service was inoperable.

Joanna looked so much like her father and aunt, the McCoy genes obviously dominant in her. Mahogany hair, big hazel-green eyes fringed with thick black lashes, small nose, bow lips and tanned skin, it made Uhura wonder what the girl’s mother looked like.

Presently, Leonard McCoy looked far happier than the linguist had ever seen him. He was smiling brightly (and quite stunningly, she had to admit), dropping an occasional kiss on the crown of Joanna’s head and talking with his sister, who he had introduced as Lilah, but he, Joanna and Jim were calling Lily. Even his admonishments to Kirk were lacking their usual sardonic edge. Something Lilah said made him toss a smile at her and laugh openly, another sight Uhura had never seen.

Focusing her acute hearing on their little group, she heard Kirk ask, “So what did you do?”

There was relish in his voice and Uhura wished she’d heard the beginning of the conversation. “I told him to shove the recorder…” Lilah began, then her eyes ticked to her niece. “Well, let’s just say he’d have to be quite careful of how he sat for a while.”

Kirk laughed, then gave a little groan and hugged his pillow tighter. Bones looked at him with a critical eye, but it was Joanna who said, “You okay, Uncle Jimmy?”

_Uncle Jimmy!?_ Uhura hid her smile by looking down at her plate.

“Nothing to worry about, Jo,” Kirk assured the little girl, who reached out and gently touched the still healing remains of some of his facial wounds.

McCoy’s big, long fingered hand encircled his daughter’s gently. “Careful, baby girl. Jim’s still got some boo boo’s that are pretty sore.”

The little girl’s eyes widened in horror. “Why, Daddy?” she asked, seemingly baffled as to why her Uncle Jimmy was still in pain. “When I get a boo boo, you fix it right away.”

It was clear that Joanna had both her father and Jim wrapped around her little finger, as Kirk said, “Well, I was silly and got hurt pretty bad. I’m as fixed up as I could hope to be.”

“Sometimes the body just needs the time to heal, JoJo,” McCoy assured her, then nodded to his sister. “You’ve seen pictures of Auntie Lily with that brace on her leg after she got hurt. That took years to get right.”

Lilah nodded and Joanna mulled this new information over before declaring, “I’ll help!”

With that she clambered carefully from McCoy’s lap onto Kirk’s and leaned up to plant a big kiss on his cheek. “Kisses help boo boos feel better,” she informed him solemnly, then looked at her father. “Right Daddy?”

McCoy was obviously torn between laughing at the absolutely flabbergasted (but delighted) expression on Jim’s face and simply admiring the little bundle of adorable that was his daughter. Finally, he managed to say, “That’s right, baby.”

“I feel better already, Jo. Thank you,” Jim told the girl, who smiled and scampered back to her father.

When Uhura looked back at Spock, she noted that he too appeared to be observing the cute, quasi-domestic scene. She supposed it was Joanna’s presence that caused the Vulcan to engage in a behavior as crass as eavesdropping. Like most humanoid species, Vulcan’s were protective of children, even those who were not their own, so it stood to reason he would be more aware of her.

Plus, children just tended to make people feel better. Their happiness could light up rooms and right now, in the midst of sorrow, Spock could use some of that light.

The other group in the room sat in a cluster of chairs on Uhura’s other side. Scotty seemed to be in the middle of telling some tale that involved a wrench, canned ham and a pair of rain boots. She quickly stopped listening because, frankly, there were some things she didn’t want or need to know. He had already eaten two of the three massive sandwiches he had constructed at the food table and appeared to be inhaling bites of the third when he paused his narration to breathe.

Sulu had tucked into his meal with similar relish, but after a few bites his interest seemed to wane and his eyes kept wandering to the window and it’s view of the Golden Gate Bridge. If you looked closely, you could see the Harbor Patrol and Naval boats busily working to recovery the remains of the Romulan drill that had dropped into the bay.

Still steadily working to clean a plate that appeared to hold the majority of a cooked chicken, some roast beef, two potatoes, four rolls and a slice of cake, Chekov appeared to be at least half listening to Scotty. He was nodding at appropriates points and looking in the engineer’s direction. He did, however, keep tapping away at a PADD the whole time. Uhura wondered if it was actual work or just something to help channel his restless energy.

Back on the other side of the room, Kirk was coughing and McCoy set Joanna down to prod at the captain’s side with sensitive fingers. Sharing a look full of silent conversation with her brother, Lilah got up and walked over to the snack table to grab a bottle of water.

Intent on watching Kirk attempt to dissuade McCoy from poking his sore spots, Uhura was surprised when a little voice nearby said, “Hi.”

Startled, she looked around and saw Joanna had strayed from her father and was standing at Spock’s knee, regarding him with those big hazel eyes. The Vulcan stared back at her, almost as if unsure how to react to the tiny human. Finally, he intoned, “Hello.”

The girl stuck her fingers in her mouth, chewed for a moment, thinking, then removed them and said, “Mommy doesn’t like it when I watch news feeds, but I do cause Auntie Lily’s on lots. I’m sorry.”

Spock’s brows actually knit together as he tried to decipher the meaning of her little admission. “I think your clandestine information gathering is something better discussed with your parents.”

Now it was Joanna’s turn to look confused as she tried to understand the complicated vocabulary. “No,” she said, in a put upon tone Uhura swore she had heard coming out of Doctor McCoy’s mouth on more than one occasion, usually when Jim was suggesting something particularly foolish and likely to end in bruises for at least one of them. “I’m sorry Vulcan got blowed up.”

Then she reached out and patted the back of Spock’s hand, a consoling gesture she had obviously learned from watching adults. Uhura’s breath caught in her throat when she looked down and saw the little, sun browned hand with chipped, sparkly nail polish resting atop Spock’s own large, pale hand.

Silence descended over the room as everyone watched the odd pair interact. It  
was odd, how easy it was for a child to express what they all felt, but were unsure how to express themselves. After a moment, Spock said, “Actually, the planet imploded due to the creation of a black hole at its core. In essence, the planet collapsed in on itself.”

Joanna blinked and Uhura said, “Spock, she’s four, I don’t think….”

“Like a pup-tent?” the little girl piped up, having mulled over Spock’s mini-lecture.

With a nod, Spock replied, “While not entirely accurate, the analogy is apt.”

Giving his hand a final pat, Joanna turned to Uhura and said, in an imperious tone only a small child could manage, “I’m nearly five!”

Then she spun and darted back over to her father, extending he arms in a clear ‘pick me up’ gesture. As he complied, McCoy offered Spock a little nod which was returned.

On one of the far walls, a panel flared to life, hiss of momentary static loud in the quiet of the room. Everyone turned to regard the intrusion and saw the image of a blonde woman resolve itself on the screen, equipment compensating for distance and solar radiation.

“Jim!” the woman said, sounding very agitated, pretty face pinched with worry. She was wearing a Starfleet uniform, commanders stripes clear on the sleeves of her red tunic. Her blonde hair was pulled back, but some of it had escaped from its prayed to fly around her face in waves.

For a moment, Uhura wondered if the woman was one of Kirk's many ex-flings (how the man seem to keep on good terms with so many of them was beyond her), but then the man himself spoke.

“Mom?”

He sounded startled, unsure and young, twisting on the couch and grimacing before heaving himself up right to circle towards the calm screen and enter its line of sight. 

“Jim,” the woman breathed again, relief clear in her voice as she let her head fall forward for a moment before looking back at him. “What the hell happened, kid? I was trying to find out if you were…okay and they put me through to Admiral Hunt, who transferred me to you. An admiral played go-between. What the fuck?”

Uhura knew very little about Winona Kirk, had only a vague impression of the memory gleaned from old pictures of George Kirk's Memorial, a beautiful, heartbroken widow with two young children. The pictures had made her seem fragile…but clearly those pictures had been deceiving.

“What have you heard?” Kirk asked, crossing his arms over his chest in a classic self-comforting gesture.

Winona tossed a hand in the air. “There was an attack on Vulcan, planet destroyed, seven ships gone, the home you and shipped that destroyed the Kelvin…Earth attacked, Enterprise kicked ass. How are you involved and how badly are you hurt? Why hasn't Leonard patched you up…oh, no, was he on….”

“I'm fine, Winona,” McCoy said, stepping up to Kirk’s side, Joanna perched on his hip. “And Jim will be okay if he listens was doctor and gives himself the time he needs to heal before throwing himself at the next thing that wants to kill him.”

Kirk rolled his eyes as his mother smiled. “Good to see you, Leonard.”

“Likewise,” he replied. “You're looking well.”

“So much therapy,” Kirk groaned, raising a hand to hide his face. Uhura wondered what that was about as Lilah snorted in amusement from her spot on the couch.

On the screen, Winona gave her son a look. “Like you've ever done anything but play mind games with psychologists. I seem to recall one of them fleeing in tears and another one walked out, quit his profession and is now raising alpacas in Wyoming.”

“I'm allergic to alpacas.”

“I think that was the point,” she said dryly. “Now, tell me what's up. The Yorktown’s en route to Earth as we speak. Captain One’s got me running the engines hot. What are we headed into?”

Over the next few minutes, Kirk told his mother a sanitized (for Joanna's benefit) version of events. He got a little twitchy and vague when discussing Delta Vega and actually managed to extract Joanna from McCoy's grip to cuddle her for comfort.

Winona had a small engineering nirvana induced freak out over the mention of transwarp beaming and demanded to sit down with Scott when she got to Earth. She listened to the rest of the tale quietly and closed her eyes.

Finally, she swallowed. “Good one, Jim. Your dad would be proud.” Kirk made an odd noise in response to that, so she continued, “Captain Pike will recover? I'd like to let One know. They served together.”

McCoy nodded. “He's strong. In for a hard recovery, but he'll be all right.”

“Good,” she said with a curt nod, glancing off her right. “I'm glad you're okay, Jim. We’ll have a drink when I'm on planet, but I have to go corral some of my crew.”

“Okay,” he replied with a smile. “See you then.”

The screen went dark and Kirk heaved a sigh. McCoy took his arm. “Sit down, Jim.”

“Jo’s asleep,” Kirk murmured as he let McCoy steer him back to the couch. The girl was indeed napping peacefully against Kirk shoulder.

“It's been a hard few days for her,” Lilah commented, a dark look crossing her face. “Before someone started leaking crew info, Bitchzilla was telling her you'd died, Leo. JoJo was a wreck when I went to pick her up…and Joss probably hates me more than ever now. On the plus side, she's also terrified the press might get wind of the fact that she's been trying to keep Jo away from you out of spite and now that you're a big Starfleet hero -- Don't give me that look, it's good for leverage—that makes her look really bad.”

Clearly, there was a whole story there that only McCoy, Kirk and Lilah were privy to, because all three looked satisfied by the end of that statement. Settling back onto the couch cushions, McCoy eyed Kirk. “You know, a nap isn't a bad idea for you either, Jim.”

It looked for a moment like Kirk was going to protest, but then he sighed and let his cheek rest of Joanna's hair, still hugging her close.

Not a minute later, the door opened and an admiral’s yeoman appeared. “They’re ready to see you now, Cadet Kirk.”

* * *

Unwillingly confined to a bed at Starfleet Medical, Christopher Pike’s patience was wearing thin with the numerous surgeons, specialists, councilors, psychologists and nurses that seemed to be constantly pestering him. At least on Enterprise the medical staff had been efficient and practical and when one of them asked him how he was feeling, what they meant was ‘Does anything hurt so much you want to gnaw off a limb to make it stop? No. You’re fine for now then. I have to go deal with someone else who's worse off. Lay there and shut up.’

Here, they were inquiring about his emotional state. Whenever they asked, it immediately turned his mood for the worse. He wondered how one of those touchy-feely types would react if he answered honestly. _Well, Doc, I’m seriously pissed off. I had a Romulan mind control slug chewing on my brain and enough damage was done that I’ll be stuck in a chair for a year! I’m not going to be able to retain my command and I’ve been told there’s talk of a promotion. A God damned desk job! No, I’m not gonna cry and bemoan events, but I reserve the right to be mad as hell! No, I do not want to hug it out! Get out and send in the damned physical therapist! _

He was also quite displeased that he missed the debrief of the command crew. That would have been something to see. He could imagine the tooth gnashing and fist clenching that had gone on as the Admirals had to listen to a bunch of cadets, Spock and an eccentric engineer Kirk had picked up on an ice planet give reports on how they managed to save the planet and quite probably the Federation.

At least he got a chance to listen to the audio recordings of the debrief. Admiral Micah Park had brought copies by, as well as mission reports and command crew logs. Park, who had a good sense of humor and an affection for all things absurd, grinned and called them interesting.

The official reports had been completed to exacting standards and all seemed to indicate that Kirk was the galvanizing force behind their victory. Kirk’s own report, while excellent, shared credit all around, though he was a bit vague concerning the events on Delta Vega. Engineer Scott’s rambling report filled in some details, if you considered an odd tale about a time traveling future version of Spock to be useful information. Pike took it with a grain of salt and wondered if the man had been stuck on Delta Vega because he was unhinged or if the unhinged had come from being stationed on Delta Vega.

Given that Nero had stuffed a slug into his head, a future version of Spock running around wasn’t the weirdest thing Chris had ever heard.

The logs, however were interesting. Kirk’s, which only began after returning from Delta Vega, went something like this:

_Acting Captain’s log, Stardate 2258.44_  
*COUGH* Holy fuck, I hope I did the right thing…  
*  
Okay, plan hinges on Scotty’s long distance transporter, Chekov’s mad physics skills and the assumption that Spock and I have the ability to not die immediately upon arrival on the Romulan ship. No pressure….  
*  
Ow Ow Ow. We survived. Romulans did not. *COUGH* Oh, I think a rib just went. Ow….  
*  
Acting Captain’s log, Stardate, 2258.48  
Spent three days in Sickbay, either drugged or puking. Lovely. Repairs ongoing….  
*  
We’ve detoured slightly in order to scan the wreckage and Vulcan space for survivors.  
*  
Out of the crews of seven starships, 31 individuals survive. 31. That's something at least. 

Kirk’s debrief with the admirals wasn‘t very informative, just a strange roller coaster of ups and downs. They had reamed him out for being on Enterprise in the first place, then turned around and praised his actions in defeating the Narada. They read him the riot act about following the chain of command and being insubordinate, then lauded his initiative. By the time they were done, Kirk seemed a bit confused and wary and generally pissed off about all the double talk.

Spock’s logs were more detailed, but less amusing:

_Acting Captain’s log, Stardate 2258.43_  
In the absence of Captain Christopher Pike and pursuant to the relevant Starfleet regulations, I have assumed command of the Enterprise. We’ve received no word from Captain Pike since he was taken aboard the atypical Romulan vessel known as the Narada. I have therefore classified him as a hostage of the war criminal known as Nero.  
Based on readings taken as the enemy vessel departed and in consultation with the Enterprise’s computational facilities, it is hypothesized that it’s next destination may be the Sol system-- and presumably Earth. Further updates will be forthcoming as new information becomes available….  
*  
In the interest of ship’s optimum performance, Cadet Kirk has been deposited on Delta Vega so as to minimize chaos aboard ship as we head to rendezvous with the fleet in the Laurentian system.  
*  
By order of Starfleet regulation 6-10, I am relinquishing my command on the grounds that I have been emotionally compromised. As Captain Pike appointed him first officer, Cadet Kirk, whose reappearance aboard ship I still do not understand, has assumed command….  
The Romulan ship has been destroyed. Earth and the other planets of the Federation are no longer threatened by it. Acting Captain Kirk has been taken to Sickbay for treatment of the numerous injuries he has managed to sustain. Repairs are underway, but as we have no warp core and limited impulse capabilities, the voyage home will take at least four days….  
*  
Under Mr. Scott’s unusual leadership style, repairs are progressing. Mr. Chekov is immersing himself in a project that will help stabilize the hull. Doctor McCoy reports that Captain Pike is resting and in stable condition, as is Cadet Kirk….  
*  
Acting Captain Kirk has resumed command. He is once again capable of holding himself upright without listing to the left…. 

Having spent some time under the care of Doctor McCoy, he appreciated the doctor’s humor:

_Acting Chief Medical Officer’s Log, Stardate 2258.43_  
Who the hell thought it was a good idea to require a doctor to take time outta caring for his patients to record one of these fool things? Idiots…Okay, ship got hit, crew got burned, blasted up or exposed to space. We’re dealing with it….  
That green blooded son of a bitch stuck Jim in a pod and shot him at some damn ice planet! That can not be a regulation maneuver…Shit, someone’s coding….  
*  
Jim’s back, looking a bit worse for the wear and he brought along a stray, an engineer named Scott who keeps pestering people about food. Spock, after tossing Jim around the bridge, resigned command and now Jim’s captain. Either this will work out well, or we’re all going to die….  
*  
We’re not dead. I’m more than a little surprised by this turn of events. Jim and Spock both survived their little field trip to the Romulan ship and managed to bring Pike back with them. The Captain had a very nasty parasite in his brain, but we removed it. Not a pretty critter, but Pike’ll walk again.  
Jim had the shit kicked out of him repeatedly over the past few days, his system has been shocked by medications and allergic reactions and his nervous system was disrupted by a Vulcan nerve pinch. After their adventure on the Romulan ship, Jim looked like he’d been on the losing side of a bar room brawl. At a Nausican biker bar. Spock might have had his hair mussed.  
Prewitt patched Jim up, but he’s gonna be feeling this for weeks.  
*  
Both Jim and Captain Pike are awake. I think they’re plotting something, but with Pike drugged up and Jim being Jim, I think we’re safe for now. I know his usual tricks too well, and I don’t think even he could find an aardvark on this ship  
*  
Some mother fuckers comin’ into my sickbay, taking over the care of my patients, cause some admirals want a debrief! Not like they can’t read the reports. Fools. Why’d they make us write those up if they don’t wanna read them?…. 

Spock and McCoy’s sessions with the admiral’s couldn’t have been more different. The Vulcan, a commander and instructor at the Academy, was offered a considerable amount of respect and the loss of his world was acknowledged. In return, he offered them equal respect and kept his report concise as they liked.

McCoy, on the other hand, seemed a more than equal match for them in the not at all subtlety veiled contempt category. They read him riot acts, he cited regulations. They snipped, he bit back, but it was all done in a manner befitting officers. Really, a work of art in Pike’s opinion.

After that, the nurses had invaded , as they heard him laughing. Fortunately, he managed to shove the PADD under a blanket before the door opened, knowing he was not supposed to be working.

They left, eyeing him suspiciously, and, after waiting a moment, Chris pulled out the PADD again. Grinning, knowing the admirals would lose their minds over this, he began to tap out his recommendations and opinions.

* * *

For all that everyone liked to believe that Starfleet training prepared its students to face anything, no one took into account the fall out of an event like the Narada Incident.

The day of the attack, the universe on a whole was chugging along like always. 8 ships undergoing maintenance (or, in the case of Enterprise, preparing for her maiden voyage) sat in spacedock, manned with the sparsest of crews. The Majority of the Fleet’s ships and personnel were out in the black, far from any of the core worlds.

Each of Starfleet’s graduating classes produced about 500 able crew members. Before the attack there had been 507 senior cadets, 514 juniors, 499 sophomores and 511 freshmen living on campus, as well as several hundred teachers, lecturers and staff.

Lacking enough practical training to be sent into space, the freshmen and sophomores had been tasked with helping to prepare to receive mass casualties from Vulcan. They watched as the upperclassmen reported for shipboard duty and warped off to aid their Vulcan friends, envying them….

Nearly a week later, a single ship, battered and half broken, returned, carrying 124 cadets, a handful of junior officers and Vulcan survivors. 7 ships, dozens of officers, 6 Billion Vulcans (and a whole planet)… and 871 Cadets just gone.

Starfleet Academy was a school of ghosts.  
On any given day, the Academy dorms were bustling with activity, common rooms full of chatting cadets, most doors on the halls open, students randomly coming and going. There was a constant stream of background chatter that became a white noise over time. Normally teeming with the best and the brightest young people of the Federation’s many worlds, the grounds seemed deserted, the dorms silent and classes still suspended. The majority of underclassmen had survived, as had the lucky few who had received postings on Enterprise or had been off world on a training op…. 

But the loss of matriculated students was immense.

The common rooms of the first and second year dormitories still held a multitude of students, quiet, huddled groups trying to draw comfort from one and other. Lacking the proper training, they hadn’t been assigned space duty as the upperclassmen had, so physically their ranks weren’t decimated. Emotionally was another story. Even as night fell, the small clusters failed to disperse, almost as if they hoped to keep the worst of the pain at bay with strength in numbers. 

It was during the later hours of the evening when cadets who had been assigned to Enterprise began to drift back to the dorms. Most of them weren’t inclined to talk about their experiences just yet and chose to keep to themselves. A few took the time to enquire after the younger cadets though.

Jazmine Tavares, who had been assigned to the flag ships engineering department, had all but burst into the lounge of Tucker hall. Her brother, William, was a first year housed there and he immediately snatched her up in a hug that looked almost painful. Instead of returning to her dorm, the empty room half-filled with belongings of her roommate who had died on the Walcott, she stayed with her brother and attempted to offer what little comfort she could.

Unlike Tavares, Teddy Lamb didn’t have his sister coming home to offer him a welcoming hug. Teddy had been posted to the Science department on Enterprise, while Tamara, his twin, had been assigned to the Farragut as a security officer. They hadn’t had any inkling that their hurried goodbyes as they ran for their respective shuttles would be their last. Sitting on his bed, the young man allowed himself to grieve for her and all those who were lost.

After their long, arduous debrief with the brass, the Enterprise’s command crew had been released to return to their quarters. Spock arranged housing for Mr. Scott in officer’s quarters and, with the help of Starfleet security and Lilah, who had been one of the FNN’s field journalists, but had quit when a producer wanted her to exploit her relationship with McCoy to get inside track on the Narada story, they managed to dodge the media types and return to campus.

It was at the dorms when the enormity of the losses suffered hit home. They all knew of the loss of Vulcan and its population was far more significant on the grand scale of things, but the loss of so many classmates was far more immediate and personal.

Most of the other cadets who had served on Enterprise were already back in the dorms, though they seemed inclined to keep to themselves. They had either paired off or congregated in rooms, seeking the solace of each other’s company. Most found themselves suddenly rooming with ghosts and thus many had gathered in floor lounges, hoping to avoid staring at the belongings of dead men and women or the gaping of underclassmen.

The floor of Phlox Hall that housed licensed doctors was even more barren. Outside every dorm room on campus was a small call panel with which a visitor could alert a room’s occupant to their presence. To expedite matters, each panel had a pair of red and green lights. When a cadet left campus, the lights assigned to them flashed red. When on campus, they glowed green.

All along the hall, red lights glowed like accusing eyes, the only exceptions being McCoy’s, Kirk’s, Prewitt’s and Healer T’Kan’s. The Vulcan doctor had been sent to Starfleet Medical to prepare to receive the injured and thus hadn’t shipped out with the rest of the medical cadets.

When Leonard stepped onto the hall it was late, past 2300 hours and Joanna was sleeping in his arms. Behind him, Jim’s energy reserves were clearly flagging and he had begun to lean on Lily for support. Still, the fool was lobbying to join the others in one of the lounges. “’S good for morale, Bones,” Jim said as he allowed Lily to lead him down the hall. “Crew unity and all.”

Leonard snorted. “They’ve already seen you fall on your face once, Jim. Seeing that again would be bad for morale,” he informed his friend, trying not to focus on all the red lights they passed.

The door of Prewitt’s room was open and Leonard glanced in at his fellow doctor. From her position on the floor, back against the side of her bed, she raised her glass in salute. He noted the tear tracks on her drawn cheeks and wondered if she had lost someone in particular or if it was the totality of everything finally taking its toll.

Reaching their room, he keyed in the access code and the doors opened with their usual whoosh. They entered, Jim still muttering complaints and Leonard set Joanna on his bed.

Lily deposited Jim on his own bunk and said, “No, you’re not fine! Leonard said your body is still healing, so you need your sleep.”

The rather boneless way he flopped about as she pulled off his boots and outer shirt confirmed that he was indeed in no state to be off mingling with others. _Usually it takes about a gallon of really good booze, a bar brawl and a friendly date to get Jim into such a pliant state,_ Leonard mused, watching Lily expertly roll Jim under the blankets. That made him wince, wondering if she had learned that particular skill taking care of him after he had indulged a bit too much.

Using the time Lily wrangled Jim, Leonard got Joanna changed into her pajamas. On their way back to the dorms, Lily had run to grab a bag of clothes from her car so they wouldn’t be stuck in oversized men’s T-shirts for sleepwear. He smiled down at his little girl, and almost laughed at the cartoon cows in princess dresses that covered her pink sleep romper.

He turned away for a moment to retrieve glasses of water to set on the night stands and when he looked back, Joanna was no longer on his bed. Lily was sitting on one side, looking at the other bed with a soft expression on her face.

Apparently Joanna had decided she wanted a cuddle and, since Jim was mostly asleep himself, he’d do nicely. She had clambered up onto his bed and curled up under the blanket against his chest, her stuffed tiger clutched tight in her arms. Jim didn’t seem bothered by the intrusion, blinking sleepily as he curled an arm around her and tucked a cheek down against her soft hair.

Both of them were sound asleep within minutes and Lily chuckled softly. “The stuff of most father’s nightmares, right there,” she murmured, pulling a pair of soft cotton shorts and a T from her bag. “Jim Kirk in bed with your daughter.”

Leonard smiled softly at her. “No one I’d trust more in that situation,” he said, knowing it was completely true. Jim was far too good a man to ever even think of harming a child in any way. He was a player, not a pervert. “If it was you in bed with him on the other hand…”

She swatted at him and smirked impishly. “A girl can dream.”

“Stop right there,” he commanded. “That’s a thought I do not want in my brain.”

“Too late,” she sing-songed. “It’s in there and no amount of brain bleach will help.”

He glared at her. “Evil woman,” he muttered, then motioned to his bed. “You can sleep there. I want to check on a friend down the hall. I can crash on her couch.”

“Do that often?”

He shrugged. “Jim’s actually pretty good about following his conquests home and not driving me out,” he said. “Only happens a once or twice a month, but yeah, I sleep at Abby’s then.”

She nodded and rose suddenly, dropping her pajamas on the bed in order to wrap her arms around him. He felt the tension in her spine and a bit of wetness at his shoulder where her face was pressed.

“I was in the Charlestown newsroom when the story first broke,” she said after a pause. “Vulcan had been destroyed along with so many ships. I had no idea if you were alive…Fortunately, someone ‘round here leaks like a sieve and the crew manifest of Enterprise became public…God, it hit me then. My big brother, the Starfleet doctor, assigned to a ship out in space. Guess I’m gonna have to get used to worrying about you.”

His arms still around her, Leonard sighed. “It’s not an easy thing, knowing a loved one’s off roaming around space, sticking their nose into hostile situations.”

She gave a little snort. As a field journalist for FNN, the Federation News Net, she had spent much of the last three years (and the two before that interning) doing just that. Traveling to war torn, disease infested, disaster devastated off world locations was the norm for her. He had always hated that her job put her in dangerous situations, but there was nothing to be done about it.

He remembered the horror he felt the first time he saw her on the vid-net, reporting from Tal-Santigio, a planet whose warring factions had turned the once paradisiacal world into a hell hole.

_On a break between patient consultations, he'd been watching FNN, knowing Lily was on a field internship but the reporter covering the war. The man was talking about the planet being ‘Paradise Lost’ when a series of explosions rocked the area. The camera fell, shouts and screams and still more explosions audible over the open channel._

_Leonard had felt sick, thinking his sister had been killed on some far flung planet, victim in a horrific and senseless war. He hadn’t had long to mull over worst case scenario, as Lily, 20 years old and beautiful even covered in dust and shaking, quickly picked up the camera and, with blood streaking down her face, began to speak of what had just happened, of the genocide and coverups. She had been hurt, but was alive and kicking. _

Looking down at her, Leonard could see the fine, nearly invisible scarring along her jaw and the side of her face. One needed to be very close to see them, but they existed as a constant reminder of that day. Not that she had been deterred. Over the past five years, Lilah McCoy had made a name for herself in the field of broadcast journalism. She had wanted to write, but ended up in front of the camera after Tal Santiago, not even out of school. She had a warm earthiness about her that people found appealing and once, over drinks, she told him that her producer said the public found her accent charming. 

Everything was going well, before a producer wanted her to get an exclusive on “The Saviors of the Federation.”

Leonard, knowing his sister, almost felt bad for the man, who was probably still trying to remove the vid camera from whatever orifice she had jammed it into before quitting.

“Guess neither of us chose the safest career path,” he said, giving her shoulders a squeeze and reflecting on a time when he thought he’d spend his life in a small town. That time spanned from his childhood, when he‘d actually pretended to be a doctor when playing doctor, to when things started to sour with Jocelyn.

Finally stepping back, Lily wiped her eyes fiercely and said, “Yeah, well, I always thought I was the daredevil in the family.”

That was true enough, he thought. The two people he felt he knew best in this world, Jim and Lily, were both born in ‘33 and seemed at times to lack the common sense and self preservation instinct God gave a lemming. Perhaps their little baby souls had the same tendency to be late as they did now, and they’d missed out when those two traits were being assigned.

Reaching out, Leonard ruffled her hair, a move designed to pull an irritated glare from her. She complied, then stalked off to the tiny in suite bathroom to change.

A small, mirthful smile on his face, Leonard took another look at Jim and Joanna, curled up together like sleeping puppies, then quietly exited the room.

Abby was still sitting on the floor beside her bed, a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels resting between her bare feet. Elbows resting on drawn up knees, a glass dangled loosely in her hand as her bowed head hung forward, shielding her face in a curtain of hair.

She didn’t look up as he entered, just gave the bottle a small push in his direction with topaz polished toes. Dropping down beside her, hip to hip and shoulder to, well, arm, he accepted the bottle and took a long pull, enjoying the burn in his throat and the warmth in his belly.

“Three,” she finally murmured without looking up. It was said quietly and he almost missed it.

Puzzled, he asked, “Three?” before taking another drink.

Now she looked up at him, red faced and blotchy in a way he’d never seen on her. “Enterprise wasn’t ready for a full medical staff, so Puri only picked two of us. There should have been seven med track cadets, but the other five got put out on the other ships in the armada. Fifty four upper year medical cadets died out there. There are three of us left.”

Leonard swallowed. He’d had no idea their ranks had been so devastated. It made sense of course when he thought about it. Medical personnel would be sent en mass in response to a mayday from any world. But to hear it said aloud…

He couldn’t speak and Abby continued, “T’Kan’s resigning from the service. Her duty to help rebuild the Vulcan race and all.”

Another one down. “Damn, he murmured, causing Prewitt to let out a humorless bark of laughter and bump him with her shoulder.

“Eloquent as always, McCoy,” she intoned, straightening to toss back the last of her drink. “Guess there won’t be the usual competition for good postings.”

The dark observation was made in a wavering voice and Leonard felt the bile rise in his throat. Forcing it down, he put the bottle to his lips and took several deep pulls, but knew himself well enough not to even try to pass off the tears in his eyes as being alcohol induced.

Not only had the Academy ranks been gutted, but a good number of doctors, nurses and medics from Starfleet Medical Center had been aboard the ships that had departed for Vulcan. All those highly trained men and women, many of whom were experts in particular fields….gone.

Heaving a great sigh, Prewitt climbed to her feet, little of her usual grace on display. Once balanced though, she made her way to the door without weaving and palmed the sensor to allow the portal to close. She turned back to Leonard and looked down at him, still planted on the floor. “Bunking here?”

It wasn’t really a question as she’d seen the procession that had made its way past not that long ago. He nodded silently and she took a step towards him, extending her hands to assist him to his feet.

Her hands were small and smooth, warm as they clasped his and pulled him up. The sudden shift of weight caused them to stumble, the JD hitting his tired system a lot harder and faster than it normally would.

Abby managed to keep her feet and steady him, using her own body as a brace. “Careful,” she said, then leaned her head back to regard him. “You turning into a lightweight on me, McCoy?”

“Not likely,” he rumbled at her, then realized exactly how close she was. Their noses were scant inches apart and her eyes, though surrounded by grief reddened skin, were oddly clear and bright. He could feel her body lined up against his own, breasts pushing into his chest, hips brushing.

He found he had no idea who acted first, but the kiss was a surprise. They did not do that sort of thing, at least not with each other. It just wasn’t how they worked.

Except for the fact that they seemed to be working very well in exactly that manner and neither had any inclination to stop.

Intellectually, Leonard knew it was probably a reaction to shared grief and loss and understood the human need to celebrate life after a devastating tragedy, but he really had no desire to over think things. And, clearly, Abby had the same idea.

“Just tonight,” she said against his mouth, pulling his bottom lip with her teeth. “No regrets.”

“Tonight,” he agreed, grabbing her thighs and lifting her so she could wrap her legs around his waist. Fortunately, they were close enough to the bed that they landed on it when he lost his balance.

He stayed the night, but never did make it to the couch.

* * *

True to his naturally dichotomous nature, Jim Kirk never slept in, no matter how drunk he got or how hard he partied the night before. When the sun rose, he always woke, though occasionally he’d linger in his nice, warm bed for a while.

After all, Bones did like to sleep in on the rare occasions he schedule allowed him to do so and did not appreciate being woken up at “ungodly early hours.” And Bones was not the sort of person you wanted to annoy awake, as more often than not he’d lob something at you. If you were lucky, it would just be caustic remarks, unlucky, an enormous, old-school printed medical tome he kept by his bed for just that reason.

The warm rays of the sun streaming in from the rooms large windows woke Jim slowly and he allowed himself to enjoy the soft comfort of his own bed for a moment. He felt content and safe and knew he was home, in his and Bones’ dorm at the Academy.

That knowledge soon rolled his mind into a more active state and he reflected on the much dreaded debrief of the previous day.

_Jim entered the conference room that the beleaguered yeoman indicated, attempting to mask his trepidation with an expression of confidence and resolve. At least they’re not in a tribunal room, he thought, looking around at the assembled ranking officers and ambassadors._

_Some of them, like Admirals Archer and Tev looked quite displeased with him, and Admiral Barnett, the Academy commandant was giving him a look Jim was quite familiar with. It was the ‘What the hell am I going to do with you?’ look. Others wore more amused expressions, like Admirals Park and Kapoor and Captains Benson and Sheppard. Captain Troi was peering at him with interest and that startled Jim, who had been unaware that a telepath was going to be present. Ambassador T’Pol, an older Vulcan woman, actually nodded at him, her face almost hinting at approval. There was also a captain Jim didn’t recognize who was eyeing him with a little too much interest. The rest of the officers and diplomats assembled wore somewhat dazed, obviously torn expressions._

_Standing at attention before the table, Jim said, “ Cadet Kirk, reporting as ordered, Sir.”_

_“Cadet,” Admiral Archer began, placing his PADD on the table and reaching up to rub his eyes. “Do you have any idea how many regulations you broke by boarding Enterprise.”_

_Holding himself straight, he answered honestly. “Yes, Sir.”_

_“Then why did you get aboard?”_

_Kirk met his eye and said, “I was suffering from the ill effects of a vaccine and an allergic reaction and was under the care of my doctor, who was assigned to Enterprise.”_

_“Really?” There was condescension and disgust in Admiral Orin’s voice. “So you found another way to cheat and get around the rules.”_

_Before Jim could defend himself, Ambassador T’Pol spoke up. “A reinterpretation of the rules,” she intoned, then looked down the table at Archer. “During my time serving with your father, I learned that, on occasion, a good officer must bend the rules in order to achieve an optimal result.”_

_Looking at her serene face, Jim said, “I only wish I’d put things together sooner. Maybe…”_

_Orin interrupted. “Cadet, that’s all well and good, but the fact is you never should have been on that ship. And then you completely disregarded the chain of command and goaded a superior officer into a fight. This is unacceptable behavior!”_

_“Orin, stop,” Admiral Park said, sharply, previous good humor absent from his face. “I think we all, including the cadet, can agree that his presence on Enterprise was due to less than auspicious circumstances. But the facts are quite clear. Had he not been on there, Enterprise more than likely would have been lost at Vulcan with the rest of the armada. And we can all speculate as to the repercussions of that.”_

_“Good work, from a purely tactical perspective, by the way,” Captain Charles, Incident Response Command, said without judgment._

_Already Jim felt like he was watching a tennis match, eyes darting from one officer to the next, never sure if they were going to praise or condemn him. He knew it was going to be a long meeting and wished he was up to his usual strength to withstand it. He was sure he was going to need it, even if the Admirals kept up fighting amongst themselves. _

By the time all the debriefs had finished and Jim got back to his room, or, in truth, been hauled back by Bones and Lily, he had been exhausted. He remembered falling into bed, but couldn’t even recall taking off his boots.

He was debating the merits of getting up and finding something to eat, always a gamble in their fridge, which was likely to contain month old take out and beer, when something impacted his still slightly sore face. The hit hadn’t been hard enough to hurt really, but it did startle him out of his drowsy stupor.

Opening his eyes, he stared in confusion at the little foot that had taken up residence on his chest. It wasn’t as though he’d never woken up with an odd limb or two jabbing him in the face, but this foot was tiny. Craning his neck, he looked down and grinned.

Joanna apparently liked to move around in her sleep. At present, she was lying atop the blanket, head resting on her stuffed animal. One of her legs was tossed onto Jim’s chest and he was thankful that she wasn’t very heavy, as his abused ribs would have protested the weight of an adult limb. An arm hung out over the edge of the bed, tiny fingers moving slightly as she dreamed.

Still smiling, Jim turned his head to look over at Bones’ bed, wondering how he was going to wake him without waking JO. He had to see this.

But the bed was empty of one cranky doctor. Lily was sprawled on her brother’s bed, having rolled around about ninety degrees herself. Her head and shoulders, as well as one arm, were dangling off the side between the rooms two beds and he bet her legs were doing the same on the other side. It seemed to be a trait of the McCoy women to be restless, mobile sleepers.

As he thought that, Lily’s free hanging arm began to flail around and eventually became entangled in her long, loose hair. For a moment, it looked as though this might wake her, but she soon stilled.

Jim watched her for a short time, then allowed his heavy eyelids to droop. It would be okay to sleep in, just this once.

As he began to slip under Morpheus’s thumb, he wondered where Bones had gone off to.

* * *

“Why would Cadet Kirk be housed in the Medical school dormitory?” Spock asked Uhura as she led their small group up three flights of stairs.

Nyota glanced back at him. “He’s McCoy’s roommate.”

“It was my understanding that accredited physicians were allotted single rooms.”

From behind him, Sulu piped up, “They are, but McCoy’s the only one who was willing to room with him after he went through like six other roommates.”

When Spock had left Officer’s housing that morning to meet Nyota for breakfast, Mr. Scott had followed him. At the commissary, they were soon joined by Sulu and Chekov.

The cadets seemed to be at a bit of a loss as to what to do with themselves. 

Classes had yet to resume and, outside campus, the media types were still waiting to pounce on anyone who ventured off the grounds.

Over breakfast, Sulu had set a PADD, with numerous news stories displayed, in the center of the table. Everyone eyed it warily. It was Uhura who picked it up, willing to brave whatever she found there.

She had only been reading for a minute when her expression darkened. “Vultures,” she hissed and practically shoved the PADD into Spock’s own hands.

Acquiescing to her intent, he looked down at the story, which was a truly sensationalized version of the events they had just lived through. The author cast himself and, to a far greater extent, Kirk, as sons out to avenge the deaths of a beloved parent. They had even dug up a photo of a young Winona Kirk cradling her newborn baby son at his father’s funeral service to display beside his current photo.

There were many other stories as well. One was dry and factually correct, which Spock appreciated, but it seemed to have far less space and attention than the other, flashier reports. Another, completely inaccurate bit of fiction postulated that Starfleet had  
known all about the Narada for years and had failed to act so as not to anger the Romulans and potentially start a conflict.

More of the stories seemed to focus on the people involved though, talking about the loss of lives and all those saved. These articles were most often accompanied by footage of Doctor McCoy’s reunion with his daughter. 

There were many, many more, but, deciding he had read enough, Spock handed the PADD off to Mr. Scott, who took it without pausing his ingestion of a truly impressive number of pancakes. Turning to the others, he said, “The coverage focusing on us does seem a bit excessive.”

Sulu nodded unhappily. “Yeah, I talked with my parents this morning and Dad said they’ve gotten a few calls from reporters themselves.”

“My Mama as well,” Chekov said, pushing a stray chunk of pineapple around his plate.

Setting down her silverware with a thud, Uhura said, “My family too, but what can we do about it?”

It was Scott who said, “Isn’t the doctor’s sister a reporter? The lass might know a trick or two.”

And that was how the five of them wound up making their way to the third floor of Phlox hall. Uhura had known the location of Kirk and McCoy’s room without having to look it up in the student directory, which caused Spock to silently raise a brow at her.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh please,” she snorted. “I had a few core classes with McCoy, worked some projects together.”

Once on the floor, their room was obvious, as it was the only double occupancy room. Without hesitation Uhura approached and palmed the sensor panel, causing the door to whoosh open, unlocked, as were most doors on campus.

The only light in the room came from the windows, but, even from the doorway, they could see Kirk’s eyes snap open. His own eyes adjusting to the dim light far quicker than his human companions, Spock took a moment to survey the room with interest, curious as to what their living quarters would reveal about the two odd men.

The room was very clean and smelled faintly a eucalyptus, a fact Spock found somewhat surprising. To the right of the door was a large book shelf packed with all manner of old fashioned print texts. Directly across from the entryway was a low, wide bedside table flanked by two regulation bunks. From the one on the left, Kirk continued to eye them with curiosity. Joanna was lying upside down, directly atop him, her little feet tucked under his chin. Lilah McCoy lay draped across the other bed, perpendicular to the way the bed was intended to be used. Her position struck Spock as most uncomfortable, but she appeared to be sleeping deeply.

“Yes?” Kirk finally murmured, carefully extracting himself from beneath Joanna and managing not to wake her. Barefoot and sleep rumpled, with creases on his face where the pillowcase had bunched under his cheek, he ushered them back out into to hall so the door could close and the girls could continue to sleep. “What?”

Taking the lead, Uhura thrust the news PADD at Kirk and said, “We wanted to talk to Lilah about how we should deal with all of this.”

Kirk blinked and rubbed sleep out of his eyes and Spock noted that he squinted when reading. “Ah, hell,” he muttered after scanning a few stories.

“That was my reaction,” Sulu deadpanned, leaning back against a wall and folding his arms.

Chekov was more noticeably agitated. “The reporters are bothering my mother. They call, make her nervous.”

“I though Lilah might have an idea how to deal with these nasty buggers,” Scotty added. “But I don’t wanna wake the lass.”

Peering at them Kirk asked, “What time is it?”

“0849,” Spock promptly answered and was surprised by Kirk’s reaction.

The younger man’s eyes grew large and round and he said, “Were you anyone else Spock, I’d think you were joking. God, I haven’t slept this late in years!”

Maybe it was because the threat of the debrief was no longer looming on the horizon or maybe it was due to a full night of unmedicated sleep, but Kirk looked healthier than he had since before his return from Delta Vega…or perhaps even since the conflict on  
the Romulan drilling platform. There was even a hint of impish glee in his eyes.

“Hold on,” he said, opening the door and re-entering his room.

Once inside, Spock watched him approach Lilah and touch her shoulder. She 

started slightly, then relaxed as she recognized Kirk. Swiping a hand over her face, she listened as he said, “Need your expert opinion, Lily.”

With a yawn, she nodded and rose, padding out into the hall after Jim. In her abbreviated sleep attire, Spock noted extensive scarring on and around her left knee and burn scars on her right bicep. Both were faint, signs she had received excellent medical care  
and reconstructive surgeries, though they were not as carefully tended ad the ones on her face.

“Mornin,” she murmured sleepily, casting her eyes and a smile around the group, abandoning her attempts to push her disordered hair out of her face. Her regional accent was far more prominent now than it had been the previous day, when she was awake and alert. “What can I help y’all with?”

Jim handed her the PADD and she thumbed through the articles. “He’s a putz, but a good digger,” she declared over one story, then continued to mutter as she progressed through them. “Miko, Miko, Miko, give the story some life, darlin’…What the?!…Oh, your ass is gonna get burned…Of course, play up the picture of the cute kid, no one signed a release for that…Idiot! Go crawl back into the toxic refuse pile that spawned you…Walter, how the hell could you publish this drivel….”

Spock listened to her continue to talk to herself. The others seemed amused by her ramblings and Nyota was occasionally nodding when she agreed with a muttered comment. Sulu appeared to be studying the intricately inked designs that wound their way up her thigh to disappear under the hem of her shorts.

A whoosh from several doors down caught a small portion of Spock’s attention. Dr. McCoy exited the room, jumped slightly when he noticed the crowd in the hall, openly startled. He quickly recovered however, a frown settling on his face. “What the hell are y’all doing, lurkin’ in the hall?” he asked, subtly straightening his shirt, which, if the wrinkles were any indication, he had worn the day before. Like his sister, his accent was noticeably more pronounced, indicating he was only recently awakened.

He did smell a bit different though, the Vulcan noted, his senses far more acute than a humans…or perhaps not.

Kirk had also noticed his friends appearance and was looking at him, head tilted to the side and his nostrils flared as though he were scenting the air. Then he grinned and poked a finger into Lilah’s ribs as she was hissing something about libel. She scowled at him, then followed his finger as he pointed down the hall. She too grinned at the sight of her brother and Spock could not fathom what they found so amusing.

McCoy just looked at the pair of them and said, “Not a word.”

“Why Bones, did we say anything?” Kirk said in a tone even Spock could identify as falsely innocent.

Lilah put her hands on her hips. “I don’t believe we did, Jim.”

“So why would we be censured, unless there was something…” Jim began, but Bones had approached the group and gave him a soft slap on the back of the head. 

“Just shut up,” he growled, but there was an undertone of good humor to it.

Kirk gripped his head as though the blow had grievously wounded him, but the exaggerated pout indicated otherwise. Lilah reached over and gave her brother a slightly harder whap of his own.

“Hey!” McCoy yelped with a glare.

Shaking the PADD at him, she said, “Don’t abuse the injured. We don’t wanna be killin’ off any more of his brain cells.”

“Oh, so you’re a doctor now!…Oh wait, that would be me!”

“Like Ah need a medical degree to know….”

“STOP!”

Kirk interrupted the squabbling and held up placating hands. “You two know you don’t mix well in your uncaffeinated states.”

The two McCoy’s blinked and then made a few muttering noises that could have been apologies. Later, Kirk would inform them that it was a well-documented fact that, despite how much they adored each other, if anything set them off prior to a sufficient amount of caffeine hitting their systems, McCoy and Lilah were like two wet cats tossed in a pillowcase.

“I’ll go put on the coffee,” Doctor McCoy muttered, making his way toward his own room, then he paused. “Why are y’all out here?”

Sulu was nearest to him at that point and answered, “We wanted Lilah’s advice on the whole media situation.”

“And Jo’s still asleep in there,” Jim pointed to the door. “So, hallway meeting.”

Still hovering outside the door, Leonard looked at the group. Spock followed his gaze, which traveled to Sulu, who seemed relaxed but kept clenching his fist in an outward expression of his anger, to Scott, who seemed more curious than annoyed, to Chekov,  
visibly upset by the media attention. Nyota was upset over the sensationalist nature of some of the coverage but was hading it well and Kirk simply seemed…resigned and tired.

To Lilah, Bones said, “The press stuff, it’s bad?”

She sighed. “Some good, some bad, some oh-shit-how-did-someone-print-this-crap. There’ll definitely be some libel suits over summa these stories. Others are so over the top dramatized, they’re nearly fiction. Like God damned reportagge! Ah mean, none of you have spoken to the press and they’re tryin’ to describe y’all from second hand accounts and what they can glean from the bios the press officer issued. And he’s a useless ninny, by the way. 

Bones blinked. “Okay. Gonna make the coffee now.”

He disappeared into the room as Chekov asked, “Can we do anything to stop zem from bothering our families?”

She frowned and shook her head. “Sorry, but the hacks that’re doin’ that’ll probably keep at it for a while. They might tone it down if ya cut ’em off at the pass. Preemptive official press statements. Tell it from your side, ya know? You’d probably need to get the  
okay from Officer Cranial-Rectal Inversion, who has the protocols for that sorta thing.”

Spock looked at her oddly. “Please clarify, Officer Cranial-Rectal Inversion?”

Kirk, Uhura and Sulu smiled. Scotty chuckled and Chekov looked as confused as Spock himself.

Lilah grinned. “Cranial-Rectal Inversion. Head up the ass. Describes Captain Filicia to a T, don’t it?”

* * *

“Just how much of Pike’s brain did that parasite chew through?”

“This is insane!”

“I know we’re a bit desperate for command officers, but this?”

“Could this ever work?”

“There’s no precedent…”

Admiral Archer massaged his temples as the din surrounding him reached new heights. Captain, soon to be Admiral, Christopher Pike’s recommendation for his own replacement had come as quite a shock. For the past hour there had been a heated debate  
which had deteriorated into an annoying squabble in short order.

“All right!” He finally said loudly, catching everyone’s attention. Being the son of a former Federation president had its advantages sometimes. “Pike’s suggestion is crazy, but we don’t have a whole lot of options. Tell us, Richard, what do you think of Kirk.”

As Commandant of the Academy, Admiral Richard Barnett had more first hand knowledge of Kirk than the rest of them combined.

With a sigh, Barnett said, “He’s brash, obnoxious, prone to fights and has bedded a significant percentage of the student and local population. He’s also brilliant and one of the most gifted cadets to have ever matriculated at the Academy. He’s consistently earned top marks in nearly every class and his scores in survival strategies and tactical analysis have been off the charts. Jim Kirk doesn’t simply think outside the box, he lives there and only occasionally deigns to acknowledge its existence.”

“He’s a natural leader,” Captain Troi added. “The others all completely accepted him as the senior officer, which, considering that Commander Spock and Lt. Commander Scott on the command staff as well as a dozen Lieutenants and Ensigns outrank a cadet, is impressive.”

“Some,” Ambassador T’Pol said, “have a natural ability to inspire others to follow them. It is a rare gift that should not be squandered.”

“And let’s not forget public opinion,” Captain Filicia piped up, wagging a news PADD. “As I predicted, most of the media outlets adore them. Even the ones that are anti-Starfleet are plastering their photos everywhere. They’re the darlings who saved Earth! Everyone wants to know what will happen next for them!”

“Most still have a month left before they graduate,” Barnett reminded the room at large. “I, for one, am not looking forward to commencement this year.”

Usually, Academy graduations were a time of celebration, but with so many of the graduating class already having died in action, Barnett would be handing out their certificates and posthumous commissions to their families. Never a pleasant task.

“Enterprise still needs a lot of repairs,” Archer mused. “She won’t be space ready for at least two months…and it’s not like she’s in pristine condition anymore.”

Admiral Orin scowled. “You can’t seriously be considering honoring Pike’s request? The man had a slug use his brain as a chew toy! It’s crazy.”

“It may be crazy,” Archer said. “But crazy seems to work for this kid.”

* * *

Jim wasn’t sure if being called to Admiral Archer’s office was better or worse than being called before the whole debrief panel. Certainly, the man hadn’t seemed pleased with him initially, but by the end of the meeting he had seemed more impressed than annoyed. At least, Jim thought he did, but some parts of the meeting were a bit hazy. He hoped he hadn’t missed anything important. 

When the admiral’s secretary allowed Jim to enter the office, he found Archer was not alone. Admiral Barnett was in attendance as well and Jim gave a salute and stood at attention, holding his nerves in check and wishing to God he was out, sneaking past the reporters with Bones and Lily, taking Joanna to the zoo.

“At ease, Cadet,” Archer said, then nodded toward the guest chair Barnett was not occupying.

As soon as he was seated, Archer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers. “I’m sure you’re aware, Jim, that Starfleet is in a somewhat tenuous position at the moment.”

The red alert warning system in Jim’s brain began wailing the minute Archer used his first name. Oh shit, I’m in serious trouble, he thought, though he maintained his cool façade. “Sir?” he questioned, hoping to get an idea of just how screwed he was before he committed himself to a particular answer.

“First, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know you’re being removed from academic probation. The charges against you were dropped by Commander Spock,” Barnett informed him.

Jim smiled slightly, but did not allow himself to relax just yet.

With a sigh, Archer made an all encompassing gesture. “We all joined Starfleet knowing it isn’t the safest career choice around. We work in space, face potentially hostile encounters daily…which is why we have so many ships and personnel…always have a few near Earth and the rest out in the galaxy. With the loss of seven ships and crews, we’re vulnerable. Construction has been sped up on several ships that are near completion and should be ready almost as soon as Enterprise can be repaired.”

“What we’re concerned about now is being able to man these new ships,” Barnett added, sitting back in his own chair. “Sure, we can pull a few officers from postings on star bases or outposts, but we’ll have some trouble filling out full compliments for years.  
Not to mention command line officers. As you know, the command track is the smallest at the Academy.”

Jim did know this, as he was on that track. First in his class, at that. He was unsure where they were going with this line of conversation though, so he just nodded politely.

“Let’s not talk in circles,” Archer took up the conversation again. “Cadet, dependant upon your successful completion of your course of study, your field promotion to Captain will become permanent and official at commencement. Captaincy of the Enterprise will be officially transferred to you then.”

Of all the possible outcomes Jim had imagined of this meeting, this was nowhere near any of them. His mouth opened and closed of its own accord several times and he felt his eyes widening to a comical degree. Finally he managed to sputter, “Sir, I don’t know what to say…Thank you….”

Archer smiled grimly. “You can thank us by not screwing up. Now go…And don’t mention this to the press if they manage to ambush you, or in the statement Filicia is squealing about the lot of you releasing.”

Jim felt himself nodding dumbly as he exited the office. Holy shit! Captain of Enterprise…officially…Wow…a ship and crew of my own. Damn…I hope I don’t fuck this up….

* * *

Four days later, the media had begun to back off a bit. Sure, some of them were still lingering around outside the Academy grounds, but those who were there were clearly their networks second string reporters. In fact, it was almost easy to avoid them and no one had popped out from behind a tree or a door for over a day. According to the families of Sulu, Uhura and Chekov, the calls to them had petered off as well.

Lilah had been right about releasing statements, which ended up being more like interviews. Captain Filicia had been quite thrilled when they brought up the idea, but had not been happy about Jim’s conditions. Lily had done the interviews, written all the pieces. Filicia had been wary, until he read Jim’s release, which began as thus:

_When asked how he feels about the medias wont to label him ‘the hero who saved Earth’, James T. Kirk replies, “I’m not a hero.” There is no sense of false modesty or self deprecation in his tone or manner, just the steadfast belief that what he has just said is true. A newfound sense of gravity sits upon his young shoulders like a suit that has yet to be broken in and usually playful blue eyes hold echoes of the magnitude of loss witnessed by all on that terrible day. “I did what had to be done. I did my duty as a member of Starfleet…even though, technically, I wasn’t supposed to.”_

_By now we’ve all heard the story, a hacked computer simulation, an inquiry, and probation which led to a Rube Ginsberg-esque plan that resulted in Kirk being on Enterprise at the right moment to set in motion the events that allowed their ship to survive the almost unimaginable loss of Vulcan, it’s people and more than a half dozen Federation ships and crews…._

This, and the rest of the interviews, had made Filicia practically cackle with glee and he had whisked them off to his publishing contact without reservation.

That had been two days earlier. Classes were set to resume the day after tomorrow and Leonard was planning to take a shuttle back to Georgia with Lily and Joanna at 1800 hours, so as to spend an extra few hours with them. But first, they had the day to enjoy together.

That morning, when she woke, Lily found a message on her comm from Captain Pike, requesting she come meet with him at Starfleet Medical. This was quite puzzling, as she had never met the man, only knew that he was Enterprise’s current captain and both Jim and her brother respected him.

Lily almost felt bad, leaving Leonard to wrangle Joanna and Jim, who, hyped up on some kind of sugary cereal the latter had covertly acquired for them, had decided to have a water gun war. This wouldn’t be that much of an issue, but they had decided to attack random, unsuspecting members of the student body. She made her way to the large, shining complex that was Starfleet Medical. It was quite impressive. As the sister of a doctor, she’d seen a lot of hospitals, but this was by far the most modern and sterile.

_I can practically feel the natural digestive enzymes in my belly dying,_ she mused, finally locating Pike’s room in one of the labyrinthine, identical, seemingly endless white halls.

The door was open, as the medical staff seemed disinclined to offer their patients much in the way of privacy, so she rapped on the frame and queried, “Captain Pike?”

The captain was sitting up in his bed, an array of PADD’s spread out over his lap. “Ah, Ms. McCoy, please come in.”

Lily stepped into the room, observing the man as she did. The holo pics didn’t do him justice, she decided. Even in the hospital bed he looked strong and fit. The ordeal he had gone through aboard the Narada had touched the hair at his temples with grey and she knew he would have to use an auto chair to get around for a while at least, but he appeared anything but infirmed.

“Good morning, Captain,” she said, approaching and coming to a halt near the bed. “What can I do for you?”

As he selected one of the many PADD’s, she could see him returning her frank assessment. “I read the interviews you did with Kirk and the others. Seen you on FNN, too. Your work is good, passionate without being sentimental,” he said, thumbing the PADD and setting it on the table near her.

“Thank you,” she said, puzzled as to why he would ask her here to tell her that. From the look on his face, she assumed he was going somewhere with this. “I hope some editor or produce out there feels the same.”

Pike waved her into the room‘s uncomfortable plastic chair. “Tell me,” he began as she slid into the seat, “have you enjoyed your off world postings?”

The seeming non-sequitor gave her pause. “Uh, yes,” she said, “Quite a lot, in fact.”

“Longest assignment?”

_Where the hell is this going?_ “Eight months on Tal Centauri 2. Their latest civil war.”

“What sort of training do journalists undergo before being shipped off world?”

“It depends on what you’re being sent to cover,” she said. “Why are you asking me any of this?”

Looking her dead in the eye, he said, “I assume you’ve heard that, upon graduation, Starfleet’s giving command of Enterprise to Jim Kirk.”

This made her smile. “Oh yes,” she agreed. “He came back from that meeting with Archer looking like he’d been kicked in the head by a mule. Honestly, we thought the worst, but eventually he managed to spit out the news.”

“I’d imagine he would have been a bit shocked.” Pike joined her in a brief laugh. “We’re not announcing his appointment to the general public yet, in an attempt to let some of the media frenzy die down.”

“Not gonna die any more than it has,” she stated bluntly. “Jim and his crew, and you know he’s gonna want to keep them on if they want to stay, are big news. The public is fascinated by a group of students, well, most of them, who managed to take out the biggest threat the Federation has seen in decades, hell, maybe since the Xindi attack on Earth! They want to know more and when it gets out that Jim is taking permanent command of Enterprise, you’ll have reporters trying to stow away in the cargo bays!”

The smile Pike offered her was rather pleased. He pushed the PADD on the table closer to her and said, “Actually, I’d like to talk to you about that….”

* * *

Sitting on the grass in front of Mayweather hall, Hikaru Sulu watched as cadets passed by. Some carried boxes, relocating to new rooms, or even new dorms, for the rest of term. This sort of mass room change was not often allowed, but as so many surviving  
cadets found themselves uncomfortable in rooms that were now half empty, housing had allowed the switches to begin the day before, after families had arrived to retrieve the belongings of cadets who had died in battle.

Pavel had moved into Sulu’s dorm last night, the entire operation carefully supervised by his mother, who had arrived from Russia that day. And wasn’t that a surprise. From all Chekov said about “Mama”, Sulu had been expecting a cute, little older lady with a nervous disposition and delicate sensibilities. 

Instead, Illyana Chekov, a woman of a bout thirty-five, pretty and slim with curly, light brown hair, had arrived in a storm of forceful personality and orders issued in Russian. She was some sort of corporate attorney and was absolutely incensed over some of the news stories she’d read about them since their return home.

Hikaru was almost glad that his own mother had come and gone the day before, but as his family lived just over the bridge, there was always a chance she might return. He had the idea that having both mothers in close quarters while each was livid would create a sort of perfect storm of maternal over protectiveness and they might do something crazy, like yell at an admiral or hunt down a reporter they didn’t like and string him or her up by their toes.

But such were mothers, and there were a lot of them swarming around campus. Most cadets seemed almost eager for classes to begin tomorrow, as it meant that their parents had to leave tonight.

Uhura’s parents had already visited for a day and they had been far more mellow than Hikaru’s or Chekov’s. They had been very personable when she had brought them over to meet her shipmates and he found it highly amusing that Spock was nowhere to be found on that particular day. He bet the Vulcan had been read the riot act when Uhura had finally found him. Hikaru could sympathize though, as meeting your girl’s parents was never an easy thing and Spock probably didn’t need the added stress right now.

He’d heard rumors from the admin staff at HQ that there was going to be a scramble to crew the new ships, which wouldn’t be ready for at least another two months. As their class was due to graduate in just over one month, Hikaru figured they’d probably get some good choices for their postings. He knew he wanted back on Enterprise, as did Chekov and Uhura. Commander Scott was in love with the ship, to an extent Sulu found a bit worrying, but the older man was well aware he was on a powerful admiral’s shit list and very few line officers would be willing to risk Archer’s wrath to sign him on.

Spock had been the ships XO under Pike, but the girls in the admin pool had some dish on that front as well. According to Lynette, steps were already being taken to promote Pike to admiral. She also said Pike was backing Kirk to succeed him as Enterprise’s CO. That made Sulu smile, as no one would really think they’d give a ship guy fresh out of the Academy.

Then again, word was that Kirk had come out of his latest meeting with Archer happy and dazed….

His musings were interrupted by Illyana Chekov’s strong voice. “Pasha! There is your friend. Get him. You must both eat now.”

_Not again!_ Hikaru groaned internally. Mrs. Chekov had been forcing them to eat every couple of hours, claiming they were both far too thin and in need of fattening up. Pavel, who seemed able to eat half his body weight in a sitting, did not seem bothered by this, but Sulu was starting to feel a bit ill.

Seeing Chekov trotting in his direction, Hikaru hauled himself to his feet. The younger man looked apologetic as he said, “It is supper time. Perhaps some of the others will be in the commissary for Mama to meet.”

It was strange how Sulu knew who he meant by the others. After serving on Enterprise, it was like all the cadets who had returned felt a sort of kinship, but those who had served as the command crew, and in that he included Spock and Scotty even though they weren’t cadets, were aware that a special bond had been forged. None of them could explain it, but it was there.

Before the mission, he’d known Uhura in passing, had a few classes with Pavel and everyone at the Academy knew of Kirk and McCoy. Jim, the son of a dead hero, who cruised through his classes like they were nothing and seemed to devote far more energy to his sex life (rumors of which had to be exaggerated, because really, some things were just beyond belief) and bar fights. The doctor had become known through his association with Kirk, but soon developed a bit of campus mythology of his own, as was due anyone who made not one, not two but three instructors cry. And that was just in his first semester.

“Maybe,” he said to Chekov, dusting grass off his pants as they walked over to join the younger man’s mother. “Ready for classes to start again?”

“God yes.”

* * *

“My God, what are they thinking? Daft buggers. Couldn’t tell the difference between their asses and their elbows!” Montgomery Scott ranted at the computer in his temporary officer’s quarters at Starfleet Academy. He’d just seen the repair schedule drawn up by the maintenance crew at Space dock and it made him question their intelligence, qualifications and ability to walk upright without dragging their knuckles on the floor. 

If it were up to him…_No, don’t go there,_ he warned himself. _It was fun while it lasted, but Archer’ll have you back at an outpost in the arse end of nowhere soon enough….Oh, but she’s a beautiful ship….._

He allowed himself to wax rhapsodic over the engineering marvel that was Enterprise, but the door chime rudely interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in,” he called, thinking it might be Sulu or Chekov. Good lads, the both of them. 

He was surprised when Jim Kirk entered. The lad had gone to ground after his last meeting with Admiral Holds-a-grudge, and all anyone had been able to find out for sure was that the young man was no longer on academic probation, as McCoy wasn‘t talking. 

Kirk looked all right today. Most of the injuries had finally faded from his face and there was only a faint ring of bruising on his throat. “Hey, Scotty,” he greeted happily, dropping into the empty guest chair. “What’re you up to this fine afternoon?”

Scotty shrugged. “The usual. Catching up on tech journals, reviewing repair schedules, questioning whether the parents of Space dock’s engineering chief were also brother and sister. You?”

The kid grinned. “Nothing much. Dodging reporters, hiding a chicken in one of Cupcake’s drawers, helping Lily unpack, reading personnel files. Pretty good day thus far.”

“Aye, with the breeze coming in from the sea, the hum of the news types gets carried away nicely. Why’s Lily unpacking?”

“Pike, well Starfleet, hired her. Kind of a goodwill PR gesture. She’s gonna ship out with Enterprise and do some stories to “appease the public’s rabid curiosity and attract interest and new recruits at a time when they are desperately needed”.”

“And she’s on campus why?”

“Crash courses in some basic areas,” Kirk laughed. “She’s a civilian contractor working for the fleet, so they want to make sure she has at least some training and cover their asses.”

Scotty though about it then smiled. “Uniform?”

“Basic black.”

“Nice.”

“Anyhow,” Kirk continued, “I was wondering what your plans are, long term. Any prospects looking good for your next assignment?”

“Well, Delta Vega was a frozen wasteland, so I’m thinking this time maybe they’ll stick me in the middle of a lava field.”

Kirk gave a theatrical sigh. “I can’t offer a lava field, but Enterprise does have a vacancy that requires a chief engineer to fill it.”

Scotty blinked. Cocked his head. Blinked again. “Pardon?”

“Enterprise. You. Chief Engineer,” Kirk said with an enormous smirk. “What do you say?”

“I say brilliant, but her new skipper might disagree,” Scotty replied, thinking _Maybe the lad’s still a bit off. He did get the ever loving shit kicked out of him several times. And from what I hear, one of his favorite past times is getting his head cracked in  
brawls. That can only happen so many times before the damage sets in…._

Kirk still had that smile. “Let me check…Nope, nope, I don’t disagree at all.”

Okay, maybe I should call… “You don’t disagree?”

If possible, the kid’s smile got brighter. “Enterprise is mine. There’ll be a change of command ceremony at commencement. So, I’m asking if you’re interested in the job.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Damn right I’m interested!” Scotty crowed, then paused. “Admiral Archer probably won’t be too happy.”

Flapping a hand carelessly, Kirk said, “I’m pretty sure they’re expecting me to be a huge pain in the ass, so don’t worry about it.”

_Maybe I can get up to Space dock and make the repair crews remove their thumbs from their butts!_ “When do I start?” he demanded., already running through ideas for repairs and upgrades in his head.

“I’ll get Pike to push the transfer through, so you can stake your claim,” Jim told him, then added, “And maybe you can go over some personnel files, try to pick some engineers you want for your staff.”

“Sounds good, Captain,” Scott said with a grin. _It’s a good thing command never interested me, or I might be put out to have a baby for a captain._ “Got any other crew in mind?”

“Hold off on the calling me captain till it’s official. Crew…Bones, of course,” Kirk replied. “Uhura, Sulu, Chekov…and Spock if he wants. I’d like to keep the band together, you know.”

Scotty did know. He decided he was going to like serving under Jim Kirk.

Amazing ship aside, the kid was entertaining. Maybe a bit nuts, but that was just icing on the cake.

* * *

Jim Kirk had never felt so scrutinizes while entering a room as he did upon arrival at his Advanced Tactical Analysis class. Not even the time he’d tumbled into Interspecies Ethics all of three seconds before the start of class, blood flowing freely from his nose  
and two black eyes blossoming on his face, courtesy of yet another run in with Cupcake and his friends, Danish, Muffin and Cream Puff. Cream Puff hated him even more than Cupcake.

That day there had been stares, snickers, rolled eyes and a few giggles. The professor had taken one look at him and asked if he needed to go to the infirmary. When Jim had said no, she simply shrugged, handed him a tissue and told him to take a seat.

This was far worse, the first class Jim had upon the resumption of classes. He figured he could use this to judge how the rest would go. So far, things were not looking good. After nearly a week, the stares and awkward silences had all but ceased in the commissary, but he had yet to venture there on his own. Those cadets who had served on Enterprise seemed to still be moving in packs, keeping with the idea of safety in numbers.

But none of them had classes with him this morning.

There were only five cadets in the room when Jim arrived, two women, three men, and the professor, Commander Kieran Byrne. The room had echoed with low chatter, quiet out of respect for their fallen classmates. As it was a senior level course, it had been full of upperclassmen and, thus, the size of the class had been significantly reduced.

Jim entered quietly, about five minutes before class was scheduled to start, hoping to take his seat with no fuss. The moment he stepped into the room though, it was as if someone had flicked a switch. Everyone fell silent, heads whipped around to stare, even Commander Byrne.

Offering a tight smile, Jim said, “Morning.” then sank into his seat.

Uncomfortable silence answered him and he shifted in his chair. 

It was Commander Byrne who spoke first. “Mr. Kirk, I’m sure you’ve heard this numerous times over the past few days, but good work.”

Cadet Victoria Matthews approached as the other cadets resumed their conversations in hushed tones. She dropped into the chair next to Jim and said, “You doing okay, Jim?” 

Tori was a descent sort, though Jim didn’t think she had any real interest in commanding a starship. Both her mother and grandmother had done so and it seemed everyone had always expected her to fall in line. Honestly, he thought she’d make an excellent ship’s psychologist, as there was something warm and comforting about her.

Even today, with red rimmed eye underscored with dark, exhausted smudges, her soft voice was soothing. “Yeah,” he replied to her query, then reached out and gave her hand a brief squeeze. “I’m so sorry about Sarah.”

Tori’s wife, Sarah, had been aboard one of the ill fated ships, while Tori and the rest of the cadets present in this particular class had been off world on a training mission when the armada left for Vulcan. That was probably the reason most of them were still alive.

She let out a small puff of breath and swallowed tightly, fiddling with the titanium band that graced her marriage finger. “We knew something like this could happen to one of us. This is Starfleet after all. It’s not like we’re pre-school teachers,” she said, then looked around the mostly empty room. “Just thought we’d graduate first.”

Jim wondered how many young couples had thought just that, only to have their lives or relationships cut short. Twenty-five years ago, his own mother had gone through the same loss as Tori. Separated by two and a half decades, the same revenge obsessed ship had left both young women widowed.

Jim was glad when the professor called class to order, as he did not know any words that could console her or offer real comfort. There were platitudes of course, but after such a loss, it seemed to him they always sounded hollow and false.  
Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he saw a similar look of relief on her wan face. Perhaps she too had decided it was better to try and avoid becoming morose. It was far better, he decided as he listened to Byrne outline the days lesson plan, to analyze tactical strategies, maybe so they could avoid such tragedies in the future.

* * *

As Commander Spock went about his duties allocating supplies to be sent to the housing facilities where the Vulcan survivors were staying until they could relocate to an uninhabited world where they could establish a colony. One had been found and surveys were currently underway to confirm its suitability.

His current task was not one that required much of his attention, so the young Vulcan devoted the majority of his concentration to mulling over his situation. The day before, in this very hanger bay, he had met…himself. A far, far older version of himself, who had counseled him to remain in Starfleet, knowing he would feel it his duty to resign and assist in the re-establishment of the Vulcan race.

His older self-- and he’d known in theory that his older self did exist. The Jellyfish, the ship that had contained the red matter, had been from the future and had recognized him-- had imparted upon him several very interesting bits of information, without saying anything that might create a paradox. Not that such an occurrence was likely, as their timeline was rather different than the one the elder Spock had lived. He had questioned the elder his reasons for not accompanying Kirk back from Delta Vega, as it would have made certain things far easier.

Standing before him, his elder self had said, “Because of so many things that happened and so much that transpired in a future that you will now-- perhaps for the best-- never know. A future that will remain forever closed to you now that the past has been altered. In that future, James T. Kirk and I developed a personal and working relationship that resulted in many achievements, in the doing of great things. All such now lies open before you, in ways and along paths neither of us can imagine.

“But one thing I do know for certain. To perform at your highest level and achieve your full potential, you and James Kirk will need each other. You boast opposing yet complimentary personalities and minds. When pooled, when set to solve a problem or face a difficult situation together, you will invariably accomplish far more than either of you could separately. It was that balance between us that often made the impossible possible.”

He went on to speak of “…all that the two of you can accomplish together. Of a friendship that will define you both in ways you can not yet realize.”

And he was correct in his assertion that, with his existence, Spock could be in two places at once. The elder helping to rebuild Vulcan society, while he himself continued to serve in Starfleet.

He knew this decision would not be an easy, perhaps the hardest he had been faced with in his entire life. It was also not the sort of question one could ask advice for either. Very few could possibly have any comparable circumstances, the outcomes of which he could analyze and factor in to his own decision making process.

He supposed he would have to do as the elder suggested and decide what felt right.

Knowing he was alone in the hanger bay, he allowed himself a frustrated huff of breath. This would not be an easy or clear choice.

* * *

“Rumor has it, someone on this unit has been terrorizing the staff.”

Looking up from the report he was diligently reviewing, Christopher Pike found Dr. Leonard McCoy regarding him evenly from the doorway. The younger man wore the white tunic favored by medical personnel at Starfleet Medical and the attached Campus Medical Center. He also wore a bemused smirk, very different from the varying looks of fear most of the staff had taken to expressing upon entry to his room.

It hadn’t take Chris long to learn that the majority of the doctors, nurses and therapists at Medical annoyed him. It took him even less time to work out that if they actively tried to avoid him, they’d bother him a lot less. The only person he didn’t aggressively loathe was Hilary, his large, British physical therapist. He had shrugged off Chris’s tirade and said, “Fine. You want to be like that, no skin off my back. You’re the one whose ass will be stuck in that auto chair forever then.”

Between that show of spine and the young man’s sarcastic sense of humor, Chris decide he was all right and stopped tormenting him. The rest of the obsequious, annoying staff, however, was fair game.  
It was actually somewhat amusing that someone had called McCoy, still technically a cadet, to come and put him in his place. 

“I’m not terrorizing,” he said, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m simply expressing my distaste at still being here.”

McCoy grunted and looked around the room, eyes landing on a dark discoloration of at about chest high on the wall by the door. “Uh huh and that isn’t from a PADD you tossed at Doctor Phillips?” he asked, obviously at least a little amused.

Chris sighed. _If I tossed a PADD at you, you’d probably chuck it back at my head. That’s the sort of person I can deal with___. “I told him repeatedly that I don’t want to ‘explore my feelings about my stint as a POW’. Every day, he kept coming back with the same inane questions. He didn’t come back today.”

Strolling into the room, McCoy picked up the chart from its port at the foot of the bed. “Labs are good, tests better than expected, neuro eval is on track,” he said distractedly. “And if you’re denting walls, your upper body strength has returned.”

Turning to Chris, he looked him in the eye and said, “Here’s the deal. You stop traumatizing the folks on this floor, even the ones who really, really deserve it, cuz the Good Lord knows he gave some of them less sense than a drunken lemur, and I’ll see about springing you to officer’s quarters tomorrow. You’ll still need follow up exams and PT, but you’ll be out of here.”

This was the sort of doctor Chris could relate to. None of that touchy feely bullshit, just straight facts and an unwillingness to suffer fools or pains in the ass.

“Deal,” he agreed, perfectly willing to submit to outpatient aftercare and physical therapy.

Before McCoy could add anything, his sister strolled into the room, looking quite pretty in her standard issue black dress and boots. The uniforms really were far more flattering on women than they were on men.

“Hello,” she greeted both men with a smile then plonked a large bag down on the table. “I come bearing gifts.”

The visit was unexpected, but Chris’s interest was peaked. Bones looked puzzled as well and stepped closer to his sister.

“Lily,” he questioned, watching as she began pulling containers from the bag.

“I figured the captain here could use a break from hospital food. Honestly Leonard, how do they expect people to build up their strength eating that slop,” she said, placing a container before Chris. Next, she poured him a glass of something from a heavy  
plastic bottle. “So, I thought some nice ribs, collard greens, glazed sweet potatoes and sweet tea would be a nice change of pace.”

With a broad smile of his own, Chris reached for the plate. “You thought right, Ms. McCoy. Thank you.”

The smell that filled the room as he peeled back the lid made his mouth water. He saw McCoy eye the food with interest. And Lilah laughed. “There’s plenty for you and Jim back at the dorms,” she assured him, settling into the guest chair with a plate of her  
own. “And Captain, it’s Lilah, please.”

“And anyone who brings me a home cooked meal is more than welcome to call me Chris,” he said, then took a bite of a rib and nearly moaned. It seemed, no matter how advanced a society became, certain things remained a constant, such as the lack of quality in airline and hospital food. “This is amazing.”

She finished chewing some of her greens before replying, “Why thank you Chris.”

McCoy was still standing there, a confused look on his face. Then he blinked and looked at his sister and sighed. “See you later, Lily. Captain, I’ll go see if I can track down your PCP and work out your release.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left.

Chris watched his hurried exit, then turned a questioning eye to Lilah.

Her grin turned cheeky. “He thinks I’m flirting and didn’t want to be around to witness it.”

That caused Chris to pause mid-chew. Hastily swallowing his mouthful, he asked, “Flirting….is that right?”

“Just a little bit, yeah.”

_She’s twenty-five!_ Young enough to be my daughter! He thought immediately, but quickly stamped out those thoughts._ Sure, she’s young, but there’s no harm in a little flirtation. Why the hell shouldn’t I enjoy a nice meal with a pretty woman? _

Before he took a drink, he looked at her and said, “I’m a little bit okay with that.”

She laughed as she gave him a saucy wink. “There’s Toffee Butter Cake for dessert.”

It was the best day, Chris Pike had had in a long while.

* * *

Interspecies Ethics was a course generally taken at some point during a cadet’s first three years, but Hikaru Sulu had overloaded his schedule with piloting and navigation classes and had to scramble to include IE in his last semester. Thus, more than most classes he had attended since returning from Enterprise, the room was full, packed with first and second year students. 

Normally, he just slipped into the room, took a seat half way between the front of the room and the back and quietly participated in what was one of his least favorite classes. He didn’t really socialize much with the underclassmen, most of who seemed very  
into the whole theory of the class and uber eager to get out and meet new races. Sulu just wanted to get through the class so he could fly, but now his normal routine wasn’t going to work.

Glancing around the room, he noted the only other upperclassmen had gathered together in the back of the room, as usual. Like himself, they had been aboard Enterprise, but they had already been a tight knit little group of oddballs.

He’d never really bonded with them, despite being in the same year, but being on Enterprise now united them. There was the usual buffer zone around the trio that no one breached, as everyone was a bit afraid of Cadet Eliot Kane, a short, burly security  
specialist. Feeling empowered, Hikaru went over and plopped down into a seat near them.

“Morning,” he said genially, watching the younger students shift and murmur amongst themselves.

Cadet Alec Hodge, the most approachable of the group, smiled in a friendly manner. “Mornin Dude,” he said, then tossed a glance at the gawkers. “Can you believe this?”

Relieved at the acceptance of his conversational gambit, Hikaru replied, “It does seem a bit much. We did sign up for this after all.”

Kane grunted, the sound obviously some form of agreement, which was the longest conversation Hikaru had ever had with the man.

Beth Parker, a lithe blond who usually seemed to be eavesdropping on a conversation that was taking place inside her own head, suddenly focused on him with an intensity that could be unnerving. “Good job not getting us killed up there,” she said, causing her  
two friends to wince. “What? People like to be paid compliments.”

The look exchanged by Hodge and Kane clearly said that this was something they had discussed with her on more than one occasion.

“People also like tact,” Alec said patiently. “But good effort.”

Parker still had her eyes on Hikaru. “What’s your take on tact? I think it just makes a persons true intentions unclear, but Alec insists it is very important.”

Before Hikaru could come up with an answer, Kane actually spoke. “You can lose the tact with folks who know you. Darlin’,” he said, voice a low, husky drawl. Hikaru was surprised, as he recognized the man’s voice from class discussions, though he’d never connected the thoughtful voice from the back of the room with the cadet whose reputation was on par with Kirk’s for bar fights…except he tended to win his. “But strangers get wrong footed if you’re too direct.”

She nodded as though the statement were perfectly normal. Changing topics without missing a beat, she asked, “Are you going to sign on to Enterprise? We all got notices to start submitting for assignments.”

Hikaru nodded. _What the hell department is she in?…Hodge is some sort of Op’s genius and Kane is security_…”Yeah, already submitted mine…Sorry, what’s your focus again?”

“Special teams, security,” she said blithely. “S and R, E and E.”

“I have no idea what that means,” he had no trouble admitting this fact.

“Search and Rescue. Entry and Egress,” Hodge clarified. “Ain’t anything, any place, anywhere our girl can’t get into or out of.”

Honestly he’d had no idea that this was even an option for a Starfleet officer to base his or her career path on. And how did one discover a talent for that particular focus?

“I also like plants,” she offered. “I have a fern named Zabignew.”

The affection for plants had caught Hikaru’s interest, but why in the world would someone name a fern Zabignew?

He almost asked exactly that but the professor called for everyone’s attention. Settling in for ninety minutes of boredom, Hikaru wondered who else was going to end up on Enterprise. The Academy was a big place and he knew some of the other cadets who had served on the ship during the recent conflict, but most, like the three…unique individuals he now sat with had been just names and faces he recognized in passing.

Those few tragic days had bound many disparate personalities together by their proximity to and role in something incredible. Before, he had barely known Pavel and now they were rooming together, talking as if they’d been friends for years. Usually they shared at least one meal a day with Uhura, Scotty, Kirk and McCoy, not necessarily together. If they passed each other on the quad or in the halls, they stopped to talk, even Commander Spock.

Then there was the rest of the crew, most of whom also seemed to feel a strong kinship formed by shared experience. People he’d never really associated with now would come over and chat, or like today, accept him into their circle without pause. It would be nice if they all got to serve on Enterprise. Some people had already received confirmation of their postings.

Scott had accepted the position of Chief engineer, but was hush hush over who had offered him the job. He was already picking his team, something Sulu and Pavel had found out the night before, when Pavel’s friend Jazmine had popped by to tell him she had received notice that she had a berth in the ship.

As the professor droned on, Hikaru’s thoughts were interrupted as Hodge muttered, “Still say he looks like a frog.”

He could only be referring to the professor, who was vaguely reptilian.

“Warty toad,” Parker agreed vehemently.

Almost imperceptibly, Kane shook his head. “Dilophosaurus. One of those little dinosaurs with the fans round the head. The spitters.”

The other two paused and seemed to consider this.

Quietly, Hikaru said, “His ears are kind of fan-like. And he does spit when he talks.”

Eliot nodded. “Thank you.”

Sitting in the back of the room was turning out to be an odd, but infinitely more interesting way to get through Interspecies Ethics than watching the clock or praying for one of the acoustically sound ceiling to fall on the professors head.

* * *

Not two weeks after their unscheduled, real world application of all the skills Starfleet had worked hard to drill into their heads, Pavel Chekov found himself pondering time. Life now seemed to be decided into two chunks, B.E. an A.E.--Before Enterprise and  
After Enterprise. It was almost as though the tragic profundity of what had transpired had sent a literal fissure through life as he knew it.

And yet, things were slowly creeping back towards normality. Classes were back in session, people had stopped openly staring in the commissary and the media had more or less dispersed. Pick up sports were starting up on the quad again, and voices rang across the grass.

Pavel himself had even returned to his routine of daily, early morning runs. Some of the usual die hards were out and about, but those who were missing struck a chord. Only a few, truly dedicated runners dragged themselves out at 0500 and Chekov knew them all. These were the people who shared in his interest of marathon running, not just the enforced laps of physical training class.

There was something soothing about the rote motion of running a well known path. It cleared his head like nothing else, and that was something he looked forward to, as the nearer graduation seemed, the more hectic things became. 

Posting options were beginning to come in, though Chekov knew he wanted to continue serving on Enterprise. It had been his ambition for nearly two years, but he had know the companioning for the choice post would be fierce. Now, there was almost no competition.

He knew a significant number of the cadets that had been called up to serve on Enterprise wanted back aboard, but not all. Jazmine knew she had a slot in engineering under Mr. Scott, as did several of her friends on engineering track. They had been contacted within hours of submitting their bids for assignment, but Sulu assured him that was far from the norm.

Perhaps there would be a response on his comm when he got back to their room. Hikaru would probably still be asleep, as he’d expressed abject horror at the idea of a run at such an early hour. He’d cracked an eye as Chekov was preparing to head out, but  
just grunted, rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head.

His reaction was actually better than Pavel had hoped for. Adam Harper, his now departed roommate, had thrown a pillow at him the first time he awoke before dawn as Chekov was lacing his cross trainers.

If he didn’t find a message about his posting later, maybe there would be something from Kirk about the barbeque he was trying to arrange. Chekov appreciated the fact that the older cadet was attempting to hold on to that sense of crew unity, but he also  
thought it was an excuse to get Lilah McCoy to make massive amounts of ribs. Not that Pavel could blame him, as the smell of them had been intriguing enough, but neither Kirk nor Bones had been willing to share theirs the last time she had cooked.

With a positive outlook, he turned and headed back to the dorms.

* * *

“Listen up my little worker bees!”

Having received official confirmation that he was now indeed Chief Engineer of the USS Enterprise 1701, Montgomery Scott set about selecting a team of stellar engineers. Though he did not have access to those interested who were currently serving in the Laurentian system, he did have the cadets at hand.

Early on a sunny Saturday morning, Scotty was holding court outside Tucker hall, surrounded by the young men and women he had offered postings. Not one of them had declined the offer. Though the majority of them were human, a Deltan, and Andorian and an arboreal Xindi sat in their midst.

Keenser, who had arrived on Earth with the elder incarnation of Commander Spock, sat on a low hanging branch, Pavel’s little friend Jazmine beside him. She had proven to be a creative and industrious young lady on the return voyage, plus she was tiny and slight, which Scotty viewed as a definite positive, as she would be able to fit into the smallest, most cramped Jefferies tubes without much fuss.

Well on the path to recovering from the injuries she had suffered during the annihilation of the fleet at Vulcan, Galia peered up at him with eager, keen eyes. Though he’d heard lots of rumors about Orion women, Scotty preferred to form his own opinions and so far the girl had proven to be quick, clever and funny, all traits he admired.

Rory Speedle, a quiet, dark eyed young man who specialized in antimatter conversion technology, was leaning against the base of the tree. He hadn’t moved in almost fifteen minutes and, were his eyes not cracked open and following the movements of the others, Scotty would have though him asleep. His laconic nature belied a sharp mind, which had been quite focused and brilliant when set to a task.

Conversely, Danny Giovinazzo hadn’t stopped moving. The tough little blond guy with the thick Staten Island accent had a boundless reserve of energy, something Scott wholeheartedly appreciated. He wasn’t a complainer, just a hard worker who had done his tasks thoroughly and then looked for more to do.

With wide eyes, Matt Middler watched Danny buzz around, never relaxing his ramrod straight posture. The gelled hair and old fashioned, clean cut looks weren’t the norm amongst this group, but his skill and work ethic were. During the trip home, he had spent a whole day aboard ship scraping disgusting burnt plasma out of vents with nary a gag or a cross word.

Sitting on a small blanket, as he was allergic to grass, something he was quick to inform everyone of, Rodney Hewlett had not stopped his litany of sarcastic observations or complaints. He was loud, cranky, never shut up and, according to his file and professors, did have a penchant for experiments that occasionally blew up a lab or small building, but he was a brilliant young mind. He’d managed to reroute several central power lines around damaged hubs through redundant systems, an achievement without which they would not have made it home.

Kelly Reed, daughter of Space Dock’s commander, looked ready to kick Hewlett. Either that or build an explosive device that would make her ancestor Malcolm Reed proud and stick it down his throat.

Looking out at their eager young faces before him, Scotty said, “Now, I know you boys and girls don’t graduate for another few weeks, nothing to be done for that, and I know it’s tradition for a months leave to be granted before one takes their first assignment, but Enterprise is in desperate need of some TLC. Not the kind those Space Dock butchers, no offense Ms. Reed, dispense, but love from her own people. So, I’m asking if any of you would…..”

He didn’t even get to finish his sentence when every hand was up and waving.

Of course it was Rodney the loudmouth who scoffed, “What, like we weren’t hopping the first shuttles up to Space Dock after commencement? Come on.”

“Not saying we’ll spend our entire leave working,” Speedle drawled. “Just most of it.”

“It’s true,” Jazmine said, allowing herself to hang backwards off of her branch. “She’s our ship. We wanna fix her up.”

Their nodding, serious faces were enough to bring a tear to Scotty’s eye.

* * *

Across campus, on the quad by the student union, Nyota Uhura looked around and shook her head in wonder. It was an impressive set up and she had no idea how Kirk had managed to pull this together. There were six massive barbeques and several other outdoor cooking appliances lined up. A bevy of prep tables and huge cooling units sat behind them and nearby were tables ready to be filled with edible foods.

Kirk and McCoy were huddled in front of one of the grills, fiddling with charcoal briquettes and matches. Each seemed to have his own strong opinion as to the proper technique required to start the flames, and, both being stubborn men, neither wanted to back down and admit defeat.

Lilah was over by the serving tables, ladling sweet and sour meatballs, buffalo wings and chicken drumsticks into chafing dishes. Self cooling bowls of tossed salad, egg salad, pasta salad, red bliss potato salad, spinach dip, crab dip and black eyed pea dip were already set out, as were baskets of rolls, biscuits, corn bread, cheese and herb rolls, herbed monkey bread and sour cream rolls.

Near her, Captain Pike was sitting in his auto chair, speaking, but indicating with his hands and body language that he had to be going. Whatever he said made Lilah laugh and hand him a roll slathered in crab dip.

As he left, she made her way over to Jim and Bones, obviously intent on seeing if they’d succeeded in getting the grills burning.

Tossing a match into the grill, Bones looked up at his sister. “Pike not staying?”

“Nope,” she said blithely, “Just wanted to have a chat with me.”

Bones scowled and Jim snickered and asked, “About what?”

She moved over to one of the other cooking elements and peered into a pot. “He wanted to know if I had plans for tomorrow evening.”

McCoy made a strangled noise and Jim sputtered with laughter at him, which caused the doctor to give him a firm shove. Turning back to Lilah, he asked, “Why?”

She sighed. “Relax, Leonard. It’s not like Chris is the type to set up a booty call. There’s a quartet playing in Echo Park. We’re going to go see them.”

Kirk had dissolved into howling laughter and McCoy had frozen in horror at the ‘booty call’ comment. Uhura found it amusing herself, and chose that moment to announce her approach.

“The performances at Echo Park are wonderful,” she spoke up, catching their attention for the first time. “The string quartet playing this month is lovely.”

Almost as one, they chorused, “Morning, Uhura.” 

Looking at them, Uhura felt overdressed in her red cadet uniform. It was the weekend, so technically uniforms were not required, but most cadets wore their reds every day. When she thought about it, both Kirk and McCoy did tend to shed the outward signs of conformity whenever possible.

On this particular sunny day, that trend was in evidence. Kirk was clad in blue jeans and a grey t-shit imprinted with the words _“Great Spirits Have Always Encountered Violent Opposition From Mediocre Minds.”--Albert Einstein._ Bones wore long, many pocketed khaki cargo shorts and a faded baseball style t-shirt with red sleeves and the words _University of Mississippi Baseball_ emblazoned across the front. Lilah too wore cargo shorts, hers shorter and olive green, with bright turquoise and white layered tank tops. All three of them were barefoot and had short aprons wrapped around their hips.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Uhura asked, pulling off her sweater, thankful she had worn a t-shirt underneath today. She knew she wasn’t much of a cook, but figured she could help chop something or set food out on the table.

With a grin, Lilah pointed to one of the cooling units. “There’s a huge bowl of chopped cabbage and carrots for the coleslaw in there,” she said, “Beside it is a tub of the dressing I prepped earlier. You could mix them and throw in some blue cheese.”

Uhura nodded and made her way over to the indicated unit. Bones had left Jim to the grills and was at a nearby prep table, slicing up a dizzying array of fruits and tossing them into a huge bowl. She gathered her ingredients and set to work near him.

As she poured the thick, creamy dressing onto the ribboned veggies, Uhura asked, “So, have you thought about what you’re going to do after graduation? Where you’re going to be posted?”

He glanced up, not even pausing the rapid knife movements that removed a pineapples rough outer skin. “Enterprise,” he said with complete assurance. “I’m her CMO.”

The way he said it, very serious with a tinge of both pride and fear, let Uhura know he wasn’t joking. This made her nervous, as she had yet to receive any indication her official posting aboard Enterprise had been approved. _Hell,_ she thought, _how did McCoy get a confirmation? No one even knows who the new CO is going to be now that Pike’s been grounded! _

“How did you find out?” she blurted, hands frozen over the half blended bowl. “I put in my bid, but haven’t heard back and I don’t even know who’s going to be captain. I thought maybe Spock, but, in one of the few conversations I’ve managed to drag out of him lately, he said that was never even….”

“Nyota!” McCoy said her name in a tone that cut off her babbling, though it was not unkind. He placed his knife down, then said, “Relax. Breathe.”

Then he picked up a chunk of watermelon and hurled it at Jim, hitting him square in the side of the head.

“Hey!” Kirk exclaimed, as Lilah chided, “Leonard! Don’t throw food!”

He waved his sister off with a “Yeah, yeah,” then to Kirk said, “Get over here.”

Picking red pulp out of his hair, Kirk jogged over. “What?” he demanded, flicking some of the mess back at Bones.

The older man gave him a look and Uhura wondered, not for the first time, how they had lived together for three years and not driven each other insane. Then again, maybe they had.

“Uhura’s worried about her slot on Enterprise,” McCoy was saying to Kirk, sounding somewhat accusatory. “She hasn’t heard anything yet.”

More alarm bells went off in her head and she whipped her eyes to Kirk. “Have you gotten your post yet?”

Oddly, Kirk’s cheeks colored slightly and he shifted uncomfortably. McCoy poked him roughly in the shoulder and he sighed. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I know what I’m doing after graduation, and I can assure you you’re going to be on Enterprise. Communications officer.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “How can you know that, unless…did you hack another computer?!”

Kirk let out a bark of laughter and McCoy chuckled and said, “Gotta admit, that sounds more plausible than the truth.”

“True,” Jim said, then sobered. “We’re supposed to keep this on the DL until commencement, but…well, you’re looking at Enterprise’s new captain.”

Uhura blinked, then stared. “Are you kidding me?” she asked, watching as a chunk of watermelon fell from Kirk’s ear onto his shoulder. She looked at McCoy for some kind of confirmation, but the doctor appeared to have tuned them out, once again focused on  
prepping a fruit salad that could feed a small army. “I mean, not that you didn’t do a remarkable thing up there, but….”

“Desperate times,” he said with a shrug. “There just aren’t enough command line officers to go around, so, since I do have a little experience, I’m being jumped up.”

_He’s serious!_ she thought, then slowly began stirring the mass of coleslaw, just to have something to do with her hands. “Whoa,” she breathed, then cocked her head. “Communications officer?”

“Lead Comm officer,” he said with a smile. “You’re the best I know, so why not. I’m captain, it’s my prerogative. If you still want on Enterprise, that is.”

“Damn straight!” she said fiercely, then gave him a look and said, :Can I ask about….”

“He’s thinking it over,” Jim told her. “First/Science officer. But it’s tough decision for him and I didn’t want to push.”

_That’s what I’ve been thinking,_ Uhura thought, somewhat amused that Kirk was having the same reaction to a professional quandary as she was a personal one. “How’d you get him to talk?” she asked, uncomfortable, but needing to know. “He’s been…  
elusive lately.”

Picking up the large chunk of blue cheese, he crumbled it into the coleslaw. “Cornered him in the hanger bay,” he said, then grinned. “I think he still feels bad about the smack down on the bridge, so he didn’t try to muscle past me.”

Kirk threw her a look that was comically pathetic and drew a laugh from her. He’d never been the sort to use the random, varied and numerous injuries her received over the past several years to garner sympathy, attention or special treatment. In fact, she could  
recall, on more than one occasion, him dismissing obvious injuries as nothing. 

So his poor-me-I-got-an-owie face was hilariously bad, especially since his wounds seemed to have healed nicely.

“Good idea,” she said with a small, lingering smile. “Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

Raising a brow, Jim said, “Believe me, with the thing you two have going on, and I’m not being crude here, try cornering him somewhere private.”

“I just need to talk to him.”

He heaved a sigh. “Well, duh, but Vulcan or human, he’s a man. Accost him somewhere secluded and part of his brain will immediately drop down to lizard impulses. That’ll make any guy more pliable and he’ll be less likely to try and escape.”

Surprised by that little bit of insight, Uhura said, “You make a good point.”

He smirked and stole a forkful of coleslaw. “That’s done. Wanna go deep fry a candy bar?”

The rapid shift in conversation threw her, but she shrugged. “Okay,” she agreed, though the idea seemed both odd and repulsive.

In all the years she had dreamed of serving in Starfleet, when she pictured her first posting, first CO, it was never someone she could see herself deep frying processed sugar with. Usually, her minds eye saw an older, refined man, well versed in galactic diplomacy and politics. He would be educated in the classics as well as modern tech, seemingly aloof, but really just a deep thinker and very professional.

As she took a tentative bite of the fried, batter covered Snicker bar, she reflected on how wrong that image was. Then again, she though fried candy sounded dreadful, but the treat she was eating was marvelous. 

Maybe that’s what Jim Kirk’s captaincy would be like. Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, but turns out to be the best thing ever.

_I really hope it’s the latter,_ she found herself thinking as she watched her classmate, soon to be captain, gleefully dunking a battered Twinkie into the deep fryer. _God help me, for some odd reason, I have the feeling he’ll be a great captain. Or at  
least an interesting one!_

* * *

“Heads up!”

The shout came in time for Hikaru Sulu to notice the Frisbee flying in his direction and snag the spinning disc from the air. As cadets and officers began trickling onto the quad, several loose, pick-up games had formed. So far, Sulu had identified soccer (or football), Frisbee and he was fairly sure he saw someone setting up for bocce. 

He tossed the Frisbee back and considered joining the game, waving at Eliot, Alec and Parker, who were currently terrorizing their opponents. At the moment, one of the other players, a young female engineering cadet named Dorothy Brennan, was complaining that it was unfair for Parker to play if she refused to come out of a tree. One of her friends, a security guy named Neal Cain, who had shockingly pale blond hair, ruddy features and blue eyes paler than Kirk’s, was, as usual, by Brennan’s side, tall, glowering and supportive. The rest of their team, comprised of Brennan’s older sister, Emily, an Anthropologist, and another security cadet named David Booth, were watching the argument with interest.

As today was to be a day of fun and not conflict, Sulu opted out of the Frisbee game and continued on the path to the food tables. Scotty and Uhura were chatting over by what looked to be crab dip, so he grabbed a plate, piled it with some chicken, rolls and crackers, and made his way to the duo.

“She’ll be good as new by the time we ship out,” Scotty was saying happily. “My staff’s a good bunch of kids. Eager to get up there and undo whatever damage Space Dock has done to the poor girl.”

Uhura grinned at him, then offered Sulu a nod in greeting. “Morning Hikaru,” he said sunnily. Then to Scott, she asked, “Any idea how long the ship’s going to be out of commission?”

“Well,” he said, smearing a large dollop of dip onto an herbed roll, “Usually, I’d say she’d be out of service for at least…four months, but I think my little elves and I can have her ship-shape…about a month after they graduate. Six weeks on the outside.”

“That’s when the Potemkin’s being commissioned.”

Abby Prewitt had come up on the other side of the table in time to hear Scott’s timeline.

Scott shook his head. “True, lass, but Potemkin’s no Enterprise.”

She raised a brow at him. “I’ve been assigned to Potemkin. CMO.”

Sulu exchanged a glance with Uhura and they shared a laugh as Scotty backtracked. “Not to say she’s not a fine ship, but Enterprise.”

The doctor smiled gently. “I get it, Mr. Scott. Enterprise was my first post. She’ll always be special to me too.”

Looking around at them, Sulu asked, “When did you all receive your posts? Mine just came in as I was leaving my quarters and it was a bit…brief. So was Chekov‘s”

“A few days ago. Just after they announced Lt. Therbis was being promoted to captain and taking command,” Prewitt said of the Aaazamazzarite officer who would be her CO. Uhura and Scotty traded glances, then looked over at Kirk, who was hunched over a  
small hand held computer, tapping away rapidly.

“What do you mean by brief?” Uhura asked, though she already had an idea and was trying not to laugh.

Hikaru had no idea what she found so finny. “There was no CO listed and the message itself just read-- Posting aboard Enterprise approved. Further information will be given later.”

Uhura actually tried to stifle her laughter with a mouthful of food as Scott clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Welcome aboard, son.”

Abby grinned at him. “Congratulations, welcome to bureaucracy,” Abby said, then her eyes shifted off into the distance and she grimaced. “That doesn’t look like it’s going to end well.”

Sulu, along with Scotty and Uhura turned to follow her line of sight. Back on the Frisbee field, all hell was breaking loose. Both Brennan sisters now seemed to be trying to pull Parker out of her tree, an action she reacted to by kicking them. Hard. Cain and  
Booth both reacted, the latter by dropping to his knee by Emily and the former making a beeline for Parker’s tree. He didn’t get there, as a well aimed Frisbee, hurled by Eliot, impacted with his throat, knocking the wind out of him. Alec could be heard saying,  
“It’s Frisbee, man! Y’all can’t even play that without hurting someone?”

He was ignored however, as Booth, Cain and Eliot began circling, on edge, wary and ready to strike. At least until a strong stream of water soaked all three of them.

Sulu, the three now sopping men and everyone who had gathered to watch turned as one to see McCoy standing off to the side, hose in hand. The doctor turned off the flow of water and asked, “Everybody ready to act like people now, and not a pack of wild dogs?”

Lily abandoned her post at the grills for a moment and ran onto the field and grabbed the Frisbee. Shaking it in the direction of the still glowering men, she said, “No fighting, boys.”

Then she turned around and trotted back past McCoy, handing him the Frisbee as she went. The three men glanced at him, but he just raised a brow and shook the hose at them, spraying a short burst in their direction. Reluctantly, they broke apart and  
rejoined their respective friends, the Brennan’s, Booth and Cain wandering off toward the picnic tables and Eliot and Alec plopping down under Parker’s tree.

Sulu looked over at Uhura, Scotty and Abby and said, “Now I’m really glad I didn’t decide to play Frisbee before I ate.”

Through a mouthful of pulled pork, Scotty said, “You should have seen the footie match earlier.”

“Huh,” Sulu said, then cocked his head to the side. “I wonder if they’re all going to be on the ship? Cause if they are, things could be a bit…interesting.”

Scotty and Uhura chorused, “That’s what I said.”

* * *

Watching Kirk as he managed to issue the last of his crew approvals (at least the one’s he’d decided on), Bones wondered why the younger man had been so hesitant to do this bit of administrative work. Selecting his crew was an important part of a captain’s  
duty…maybe that’s why he hadn’t felt a need to rush. Technically, he wasn’t a captain until commencement.

But it would have been cruel to drag out making the notifications and would have driven potential crewmembers up the proverbial wall.

All around them, young men and women were enjoying the sunny day, good food and fun. Officers were scattered amongst them, also relaxing, even joining in some of the games.

The Frisbee hooligans seemed to have cooled down once they had been separated (and saturated). He’d even returned the flying disc to the odd little blond who had finally come out of the tree to eat. She’d smiled, thanked him, then proceeded to use the Frisbee as a plate.

The soccer game was still in progress, quite freestyle, with players coming and going as whims hit them. Bones considered going back for another serving of bourbon steak kabobs, but then he heard something that shocked the hell out of him.

“Daddy!”

He spun in the direction of Joanna’s voice, eye’s scanning the milling crowd. It was easy enough to spot her, waving happily as she wove her way through the sea of cadets, leading a pretty blond woman along by the hand. After a moment, Bones’ eyes bugged  
in surprise as he recognized her as Jim’s mother.

Staring at the approaching pair, he felt a soft slap on the back and, out of the corner of his eye, saw Jim and Lily flank him on either side.

“Surprise,” Jim said, smirking happily as Joanna broke free from Winona and dashed to Bones, who scooped her up in his arms.

“Surprise, Daddy!” Joanna crowed, bouncing happily as she wrapped her little arms around his neck. “Did we get you? Are you surprised?”

“More than you know, Baby girl,” He said, kissing her cheek. “How on Earth did you get here?”

“I asked mom to pick her up on her way here. She was in Florida visiting a friend,” Kirk said with a smirk and leaned in to give Jo a smooch on the other cheek. “Fun trip, doll?”

“Yes, Uncle Jimmy,” Joanna laughed and Bones smiled as Jim stepped towards his mother.

Their embrace was quick and more than a bit awkward, as neither Jim nor his mother seemed to know how the other would react.

Stepping back, Winona looked he son over. “You’re looking well, Jim,” she said with a small smile.

“You too, Mom,” Jim replied. “Thanks for bringing Jo. Any problems with that?”

With a shake of her head, Winona said, “No, Joanna’s very sweet and her mother…well, what exactly did you say to her?”

McCoy had to admit, he was curious about that himself. Normally it took a lot of coercion and none too subtle threats of lawyers to get Jocelyn to allow Jo to come visit him. And two visits in a month’s time was unprecedented.

“It was a joint effort,” Lily admitted from his elbow. “Jim offered his mom’s services as an escort and I intimated that denying a hero the right to see his daughter might cast her in a poor light.”

“Before this whole incident, I never really considered how scary you press folk can be,” Jim said, slinging a companionable arm around Lily’s shoulders and jostling her. “Power of the pen, I guess.”

She grinned. “I can do a whole lot more damage with a pen than a phaser,” she informed him lightly.

“Mama says girls shouldn’t be playin’ with guns. Someone could get hurt,” Joanna informed her aunt gravely from her perch in Bones’ arms, making him chuckle.

“Not to worry, baby,” he assured his daughter. “I’ve seen Auntie Lily shoot. No one’s in any danger of her shooting them.”

“Not on purpose, anyway,” Jim snickered and received an elbow in his ribs from Lily. “Ow! God Da…rn it, are the pointy elbows genetic, or have you two figured out how to sharpen them, cause that really hurts!”

Bones and Lily shared a smirk and Joanna giggled, contorting her arms to try to peer at her own elbows. Jim pouted at them and Winona smiled at the scene before her. Then her eyes shifted to the left and widened as she gazed off at something behind them.

As he spun to see what had startled her, McCoy ran through scenarios in his mind. Perhaps the hostilities had resumed between the Frisbee teams. There was always a possibility of a soccer riot, but the game had been one of the more civil in progress. Maybe Chekov had actually succeeded in eating his own body weight in ribs and pie. Worst case scenario, Scotty had souped up the grills and a geyser of flame was shooting a hundred feet up in the air.

He didn’t see any of these things, but was almost immediately showered by a heavy spray of water. Jim seemed to be taking the worst of the dousing, Lily, still tucked into his side, coming in a close second. Joanna squealed as the water hit her and though she  
seemed more delighted than upset, Bones turned his back into the spray, sheltering her with his body as he bellowed, “What the hell!”

As the spray turned off, Joanna mumbled, “Bad word, Daddy!”

A few more droplets hit him as Jim shook himself like a dog, all the while glaring in the direction of the assault. Bones followed his line of sight to see Cupcake holding the hose and his cronies lurking nearby. The four of them looked torn between rolling with laughter and outright terror. All around them, the other picnic goers were reacting with varying degrees of shock, humor and horror.

It was the cadet Jim had nicknamed Danish who shouted, “Sorry McCoy! Didn’t see the kid!”

He treated them to a scowl that had them dropping the hose and retreating.

“Do I want to ask?” Winona said from behind them, where she had received a much reduced spray.

Jim tugged his T-shirt away from his torso and attempted to ring it out. “Long story, Mom,” he sighed, then watched out of the corner of his eye as Lily pulled her tank tops off, revealing a bikini underneath.

Both Bones and Winona rolled their eyes and Lilly commented, “Well, one things certain. Cupcake’s gonna shi…pass a brick when he finds out who his CO’s gonna be.”

A truly impish grin passed over Jim’s face and he traded a look with Bones and Lily.

Neither Winona or Joanna could figure out what they found so funny.

* * *

Hell Week.

For as long as anyone could remember, that was what cadets and instructors alike had called finals week at the Academy and not without good reason.

Starfleet was known to recruit the best and the brightest young men, women, otherwise gendered and genderless sentient beings from all over the Federation. They were driven, focused and had proven their skills and ambition time and again…but finals week knocked a dozen cadets out of the program each year. Medical was always inundated with panic attacks, students collapsing from exhaustion, others OD-ing on stims and even the occasional student who just caved under the stress and tried to end it all.

The entire week was insane, students running from test to study sessions to tests, snarling at anyone or anything that interrupted them.

Finals week after the Narada Incident was unlike any that came before it.

Everything had changed.

Sure, exams were still given and they were hard, but no one could work themselves up to the usual level of frenzy. Despite the occasional shows of life and happiness in gatherings, most still spent the majority of their time wandering around the Academy in a bit of a silent daze.

Since instructors as well as cadets had perished with the fleet, many upperclassmen found themselves in the position of leading seminars and administering exams. Uhura took on several linguistics courses while Sulu was in charge of a flight group. Spock had taken on additional classes while Scott agreed to teach some courses in the engineering department. McCoy wasn’t thrilled to have a bunch of medical students thrown at him and Kirk was bouncing around, juggling way too many courses.

And yet, somehow they all managed to make it through Hell Week at the top of their classes.

* * *

This year’s commencement was far more bittersweet than most, Admiral Richard Barnett reflected as he looked out at the sea of bright young faces before him. Four hundred instead of the class of the usual class of thousands, and that was including the specialty officers, like doctors and nurses who had been jumped up to fill out their severely depleted ranks.

It was a special ceremony, but in some ways like any other had had presided over. What he was about to do next though, that was a first. And quite different from the last time he had summoned this particular man before the cadet-- now officer-- assembly.

“This assembly calls Captain James Tiberius Kirk.”

As Kirk made his way down to the front of the room, Barnett scanned the crowd, noting the looks of pride on the faces of Kirk’s friends, pleased surprise on others and a few looked nervous. After a moment, the admiral recognized those few as the cadets Kirk had been waging a not so quiet war with since the night before he joined up. And he was fairly certain they had been among the approved crew manifest for Enterprise. That could prove a good source of entertainment for the admiralty, if the interactions between the cadets, now officers remained the same.

The young captain was smiling as he came to attention before Barnett, who forgave him the slight deviation from somber protocol.

“Your inspirational valor and supreme dedication to your comrades are in keeping with the highest traditions of service and reflect utmost credit upon yourself, your crew, and the Federation. By Starfleet order Two-eight-four fifty-five, you are hereby directed to report to commanding officer of U.S.S Enterprise for assignment as his relief.”

The salute Kirk offered him was one that could have pleased the most critical first year instructor. All eyes (most glowing with the same pride and surprise, those few now utterly horror stricken) followed the young man as he passed Barnett to plant himself before the newly minted Admiral Christopher Pike, who sat in his auto-chair. 

With precision and appropriate formality, Kirk intoned, “I relieve you, Sir.”

Though his response was quiet, Pike smiled broadly as he said, “I am relieved.”

He then lifted the box that rested on his lap, opened it and continued, “And as a Fleet admiral, in acknowledgement of your…unique solution to the simulation, it’s my honor to award you with this commendation for original thinking.”

Pike was actually smirking as Kirk leaned in to allow him to pin the medal to his chest. “Congratulations-- Captain.”

“Thank you, sir.”

When Kirk turned to face the rows of graduates, thunderous applause and cheers filled the room. Barnett watched him take in the approval and scan the crowd for friendly faces. The blue eyes lit upon the officers who were to be his command crew, as well as  
Commander Spock, still unsure as to his own future.

Most of the admiralty was split on what they expected from Kirk as a captain. Half of them were quite sure he would go on to do great things, become the officer future cadets wanted to be. The others were just as convinced that he was going to create  
Federation wide diplomatic problems and probably get his crew killed in the process. Everyone was in agreement, though, about the fact that whatever happened, it was going to make history.

* * *

Five weeks after their commencement ceremony-- which was already being talked about as one that would go down in the history books--, Enterprise was ready to ship out. Scotty’s team had worked their magic and the ship looked good as new. There were no signs of the beating she had taken, the hull restored to its previous strength and all systems at peak performance levels.

Captain James Tiberius Kirk stood in the turbo lift, making his way to the bridge, where many of his command crew waited. He’d already swung through engineering, which was once again a gleaming example of the triumph of Federation technology. Still, Jim was pretty sure they were going to be one of the more interesting departments.

When he had arrived in Main Engineering, various engineers and technicians were going about their business. Keenser was atop a bank of consoles, though he did appear to be doing something with the wiring visible through an open panel. A crew woman was only visible from the waist down, as she was wedged into an open access shaft. Scotty was in a huddle by a large workbench with two of his people, Jensen Winchester and Kaylee Staite, if Jim remembered their files correctly.

As he approached, Scotty looked up, saw Jim and coughed. Immediately, the other two yanked a tarp over whatever it was they had on the table. Then, as Scotty moved to intercept Kirk, they pulled out PADD’s, leaned against the table and began discussing the cargo bay door maintenance schedule.

“Captain!” Scotty said loudly and with great gusto, catching Kirk’s arm and leading him away. “What brings you down here?”

Glancing back at the mystery Bench, Jim asked, “Scotty, what…?”

“Two words for you, son. Plausible Deniability.”

Jim considered this for a moment. Scotty wasn’t going to do anything to endanger the ship and hey, he wouldn’t want someone poking their noses into his business, so he decided to drop the matter.

“Right,” he agree, then as there was a small explosion somewhere in the distance.

“It’s fine. I got it!” someone yelled from the unseen blast sight.

Scotty didn’t seem too perturbed, so Jim decided to let him handle his people as he saw fit.

Sickbay was a bit more orderly, with Nurse Chapel whipping the nursing staff into a unified, professional force to be reckoned with. Bones had the ships MD’s, a nervous group of six, plucked from the 1st and 2nd year Starfleet Med school classes, gathered around him to impart the rules of HIS SICKBAY. They were all physicians, but, due to need, their years at the Academy had been cut short. On the whole, the doctors were a bit older than they majority of his young crew, having graduated from med school, but some of them still looked young,

Jim recognized the youngest of the group, Dr. Simon Maher, as the jumpy kid with the weird sister in the Helm/Navigation department. When he’d Okayed River’s posting several people had warned him the girl was crazy, but so far the only odd thing he’d seen  
was her dancing in the hall the other day, and frankly he thought that was kind of fun.

Two of the others, Alex Chambers and Jill Cavanaugh, were leaning against a wall, radiating disgruntlement and boredom. But they were listening, so they’d probably get along fine with Bones, even though Cavanaugh had a bit of an anger management issue.

Jesse Chase and Mark Lawson were both attentive and alert, with kind faces and gentle manners. Kirk immediately pegged them as the ones possessing some sort of bedside manners. 

Dr. Antony Green, a psychiatrist, was to be in charge of monitoring the crews mental and emotional well being. He was older than the rest of the medical staff, around forty, but didn’t seem to have any issue reporting to McCoy. In fact, not much seemed to bother him, as his demeanor varied between placid and detached.

McCoy finished lecturing them as Jim arrived and their reactions to being released varied. Chambers and Cavanaugh stalked off mumbling to do god knows what, while Chase, Lawson and Maher went to work on inventory. Green kind of wandered off without an obvious destination, but stopped to observe an orderly swearing at a recalcitrant diagnostic machine.

“Hey, Bones,” Jim began, but his friend held up a finger and waved around at the staff scurrying about.

“Bit busy now, Jim,” he said, catching sight of the cursing orderly, who was now trying to force the machine into a too small space. “I’ll be up for the launce.”

Then he went over to cow either the orderly or the machine into submission. Seeing that Bones was in a mood, Jim beat a hasty retreat before a hypo found its way into his neck.

He spent the next hour popping in and out of various departments. Security was interesting. He’d appointed Lt. Sarah Reese, a serious young woman with a scary aggressive streak, department chief, and Kirk found her and Lt. Damian Crews in the main office, the red headed man expounding on the virtues of fruit. Reese was only listening with half an ear as she finalized the security teams schedule.

So Kirk found himself on the turbo lift, headed to the bridge, ready to start their mission. He knew Scotty was down with his engines, and Bones had said he’d be on the bridge with Uhura, Sulu, Chekov and, hopefully, Spock.

The doors whooshed open and disgorged him onto the bridge to face the smiling faces of his crew. Taking his seat, he nodded to Sulu, who responded, “Maneuvering thrusters and impulse engines at your command.”

“Weapons systems and shields on standby,” Chekov added from the tactical station.

“Dilithium chamber at maximum efficiency, Captain,” came Scotty’s voice over the open comm.

From her seat, Uhura informed him, “Dock control reports ready for departure. Yard command signaling all clear on chosen vector.”

Bones didn’t really need to be on the bridge, but he was idling in the empty space between the lift and the command chair. “Same ship, different day.”

That brought a grin to Kirk’s face, though it fled as he noted the empty science station. He had so hoped Spock would have made his decision before departure, but it couldn’t wait any longer. He’d have to choose one of the officers from the department and  
appoint him or her chief.

“Mister Sulu,” he said with resolve, swinging around to regard the helmsman, “prepare to engage forward thrust---”

The whoosh of the turbo lift doors cut him off as a figure was admitted to the bridge. Spock stepped out, pausing between the science station and the command chair.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain.”

The bridge crew was practically vibrating with pleasure, but Spock ignored all of that, as did Jim, who, struggling to hold in his own grin, said, “Permission granted. Your purpose in presenting yourself here, Mister Spock?”

“As you have yet to select a first officer, I would respectfully like to submit my candidacy. If you decline, there is still time for me to disembark. I ask that you fully consider all candidates and qualifications before rendering a decision on this important matter.”  
Then he did that thing where, without changing his expression, he managed to look sarcastic. “Should you desire, I can provide character references.”

There he was, the final piece of the puzzle. Kirk met Spock’s eyes and the Vulcan raised a single brow. Enough said.

“It would be my honor, Commander. The science station is yours.”

To Sulu, he said, “Maneuvering thrusters, Mister Sulu. Take us out.”

“Aye, Captain.” Sulu’s grin mirrored many on the bridge and around the ship as news of Spock’s decision spread.

The Enterprise had her crew. She had her mission. And she was going to make history.


End file.
